


When Apollo Met Persephone

by Aurelia_Combeferre



Series: The 1830s AU [1]
Category: Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drama, F/M, Mystery, Paris Uprising 1832, Politics, Post Barricade, Revolution, Romance, Suspense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-06
Updated: 2014-01-28
Packaged: 2017-12-10 13:53:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 82
Words: 361,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/786777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aurelia_Combeferre/pseuds/Aurelia_Combeferre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The revolution, or at least the first part of it succeeds. Enjolras confronts political and personal realities. Eponine is suddenly faced with more opportunities than she ever thought. Can they guide each other in a world that needs them as much as they need it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. When Apollo Met Persephone

**WHEN APOLLO MET PERSEPHONE**

**Chapter 1: June 7, 1832**

****

 

Within forty-eight hours of the funeral of General Lamarque, the fighting had moved a good way from Les Halles. As the men from the students’ barricade rendezvoused with other detachments from Saint Merry and elsewhere in the city, similar meetings were occurring all throughout the city. On the morning of the seventh of June, the Tuileries had fallen, along with the Marais, and the Hotel de Ville, Palais Royal and the Palais de Justice were surrounded by contingents from Paris and its suburbs.

 

On the Rue de la Chanvrerie, a few men remained, mainly to tend to the wounded many of whom simply passed through en route or coming from the fights. Among the beneficent ones was a harried looking young doctor, who walked about with his shirtsleeves rolled up as he checked on the two wounded who were lingering on mattresses inside the much riddled bistro known as Corinth.

 

Combeferre bit his lip as he contemplated the last vial of laudanum left with him from a fellow former intern who had joined the fighting. “I’ll have to decide later which of them will need it more,” he said to himself as he set down the laudanum and wiped at his spectacles. The two patients left in his care had both sustained rather painful wounds, and it was likely that at least one of them would have to be sedated in order to spare them some of the necessary suffering and inconvenience when the time came to move them out of the barricade.

 

As he began packing up lint, bandages and other paraphernalia into a bag, he heard a step in the doorway of the bistro. “It’s just them left, Combeferre?” a familiar voice greeted.

 

Combeferre turned around and nodded. “Where did you come from, Enjolras?” he asked, relief and concern tingeing his calm tone.

 

“The Palais de Justice. I thought I’d take a detour on the way to the Hotel de Ville,” the younger man answered as he propped up his carbine against the wall. His blonde hair was in disarray and his clothes were covered with grime and stained with blood on the sleeves.

“You’ve come just in time. I need to get these two to where someone can care for them,” Combeferre said as he took off his bloodstained apron.

 

“The hospitals are overflowing,” Enjolras noted as he placed some more bandages into the bag. He spoke softly, as if taking unconscious heed to leave the wounded undisturbed with the news. “Either that, or there’s fighting in those vicinities.”

 

“Even at the Necker?”

 

“Word has it that they have to put patients on the floor there, since there has been fighting near the barracks.”

 

Combeferre bit his lip and looked at the vial of laudanum. “We can bring Pontmercy to the Rue des Filles du Calvaire. His pocketbook has the address of his grandfather,” he suggested, indicating the small notebook he had taken out of Marius’ pocket when binding up the latter’s injuries.

 

“Why not bring him to Courfeyrac’s room?” Enjolras asked.

 

“I don’t think his concierge would relish the disturbance. Besides, Pontmercy needs constant care for that arm of his. At least he wasn’t concussed from his falling off the barricade,” Combeferre answered.

 

Enjolras winced momentarily at the recollection of the last major cannonry attack on the barricade, which had blown away the flag and knocked quite a few defenders from their posts. Unfortunately for Marius, he had fallen in such a way that he had landed against a pile of paving stones, which had been saved as extra fortification for the barricade. “ _And it took all the daring of Courfeyrac and Gavroche to replace the flag,”_ he thought.

 

 _“_ Courfeyrac was with Feuilly and some workingmen at Picpus, last I heard” Enjolras said after a moment. “Well if Pontmercy is in a bad way, then it is off to the Marais for him then. He’ll be safe there, for certain.”

 

“The girl though…” Combeferre said, trailing off. “I was thinking of bringing her to the Marais too, unless she has some family who can care for her.”

 

Enjolras shook his head as he went to take a look at the two patients. On one, Marius lay totally insensible, murmuring in his dreams and shifting against the pain that was surely searing his injuries. His head was bandaged as well as his arm. On the other mattress was a girl dressed in what apparently had been the clothes of a workingman. Her shirt was torn where a bullet had hit her in the side, and as well in her left hand. Her breathing was shallow and her dirty hair was matted with sweat.

 

“Pontmercy and Courfeyrac know her?” Enjolras inquired.

 

“Courfeyrac merely saw her when we marched here, but mistook her for a boy. Pontmercy though said that they were neighbors, when he lived in the Gorbeau tenement. Her family’s all in jail though, except for her brother, who was here at the barricade. He’s a gamin.”

 

“You mean Gavroche? The boy who got the spy’s musket?”

 

“Yes, that one. He told me that his sister’s name is Eponine.” 

 

Before Enjolras could say anything more to this, another figure had entered the bistro. Combeferre recognized him first. “Citizen Fauchelevent?” the doctor asked by way of clarification.

 

“You can call me that,” the white-haired newcomer replied.

 

“Most of the men are fighting elsewhere now. What have you come here for?” Enjolras asked. The last time he had seen the man had been the day before, when he had been given the assignment of sending out the police spy named Javert, and turning him over to the other Republican forces.

 

“For him,” Citizen Fauchelevent answered, indicating Marius with a gesture.

 

“Are you a relative of his?” Combeferre pressed on.

 

“A friend,” the older man said.

 

Combeferre handed the pocketbook to Citizen Fauchelevent, indicating the address that Marius had scribbled. “He has to be brought here,” he said.

 

Citizen Fauchelevent nodded by way of understanding. His astute, almost paternal eye traveled from Marius, who was beginning to stir, to Eponine, who was now apparently awake and watching them intently. Whether he recognized the girl, it was difficult to tell. “I understand you are vacating this place?” he said.

 

“Since the need is elsewhere now,” Enjolras replied.

 

Citizen Fauchelevent paused, as if considering something. “My daughter is at home now. You can bring the girl there, where she will be cared for,” he said.

 

At this, Combeferre visibly sighed in relief while Enjolras nodded. “Once again, you have our thanks, Citizen,” Enjolras said.

 

“The address is 7, Rue de l’Homme Arme,” Citizen Fauchelevent instructed. He tore out a page from the pocketbook, wrote something and handed it to Combeferre. “Give that to my daughter—it will explain all. As to getting there, no matter; there are fiacres still plying this way.”

 

“One more thing,” Combeferre said before Citizen Fauchelevent could move Marius. He opened the vial of laudanum and tipped half of its contents between Marius’ lips. He capped the vial while Citizen Fauchelevent picked up Marius with as much as ease as if he was carrying a child.

 

“Tell my daughter that I will be back at home soon,” Citizen Fauchelevent said before leaving the bistro, walking slowly so as not to jostle the wounded man too much.

 

Enjolras and Combeferre glanced at each other. “Now I know you will want to go to the Hotel de Ville immediately,” Combeferre said knowingly.

 

“I’ll bring the news right away,” Enjolras said, touching Combeferre's shoulder.

 

“Unless I find you and the others immediately after,” Combeferre said optimistically. He picked up his pistols, which he had set aside earlier in the day, and stuck them into his belt before getting the small bag of bandages.

 

“What happened to your musket?” Enjolras asked as he picked up his carbine.

 

“I had to break it over the head of a robber that was passing through here,” Combeferre replied. He cast a cautious glance at Eponine. “Careful when you lift her, Enjolras. That wound by her ribs needed a bit of stitching.”

 

Wordlessly, Enjolras handed his carbine to Combeferre before going over to the last occupied mattress on the floor. As best as he could, he scooped up the girl, who whimpered at the sudden movement.

 

“Where’s Monsieur Marius?” she asked in a raspy voice. “Where did that man bring him?”

 

“To his grandfather’s,” Enjolras answered as he adjusted his hold on her so that she was more comfortable.

 

Eponine took a deeper breath and winced as her hand involuntarily went to her injured side. “Where’s my brother?” she asked.

 

“He went with some of the others last night to join the forces near the Seine,” Enjolras replied.

 

“That silly boy! Isn’t he afraid he’s going to get shot? Oh, and I know that gentleman who came in,” Eponine rambled on. “His daughter is that lady Monsieur Marius spends his nights with.”

 

“Don’t speak anymore. You need to save your strength,” Combeferre said firmly as they made their way out of the wine shop.

 

Eponine’s glazed eyes looked Enjolras in the face and an odd smile crooked her lips. “Is your hair really like that, M’sieur?” she asked in a dazed tone.

 

“On some days,” Enjolras replied diffidently. “Quiet now. You heard what the doctor said.”

 

“It hurts at any rate,” Eponine whispered as she shut her eyes and clutched at Enjolras' cravat as a spasm of pain coursed through her. 

 

Enjolras glanced towards the end of the street, where Combeferre had managed to flag down a fiacre. He nodded on seeing that the driver was wearing a red bonnet. “Citizen, please bring them to the Rue del’Homme Arme,” he said cordially.

 

The driver looked at the wounded girl that Enjolras was carrying. “Got a bad case of lice, that one. The Guard’s lost now with women fighting too at the barricades," he said wryly. 

 

Enjolras smiled wryly. “If only that were the case with her,” he said in an undertone as Combeferre helped him carry Eponine into the fiacre.


	2. When Apollo Met Persephone

**Chapter 2: The Lark and the Rose**

The first thing that greeted Eponine’s eyes when she opened them was the color white—not a dazzling, blinding brightness, but rather a clean, calm radiance. _“And I must be dead then,”_ the girl thought as she blinked at the light that refused to fade. _“First falling down, then Marius, then that boy with golden hair…”_

It was only then that she realized that the whiteness she was staring at was none other than the ceiling of a room, bathed in the morning sunshine. She found that she was lying on a bed with the cleanest sheets she had ever seen, and with the blankets drawn up to her collarbone. As she lifted her hands, she found that the left one was swathed in gauze. On further examination, she found she was wearing a loose white nightgown. “Where am I?” she wondered aloud as she tried to sit up as far as her aching side would permit her.

It was then that the door to the room opened. “Ah, you’re awake,” she heard a girl say lightly by way of greeting. “How have you been, Eponine?”

Eponine shut her eyes momentarily, unwilling to look at the newcomer in the face. “Of all people, it just had to be Cosette,” she thought. Although she had suspected long before that the “pretty lady” that Marius was smitten with was none other than the girl once known as “the Lark”, she had only ascertained Cosette’s identity when the man known as M. Fauchelevent appeared at the barricade to rescue Marius.

“Better. How did you know my name, Mademoiselle?” Eponine replied, turning her face towards the window.

“My father told me in his letter that he heard it from the men at the barricade, specifically from Marius,” the girl said, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “You saved his life, I heard. Thank you for that.”

“He still got hurt anyway. He fell off the barricade,” Eponine said, fighting to keep her voice level. “How could she possibly remain so calm?” she wondered.

“I know. I’ve been busy making lint for you both,” Cosette said wryly.

Eponine sighed deeply. “Aren’t you supposed to be mad at me, Cosette?” she blurted out after a moment.

Cosette nearly started on hearing her name, but she regained her composure quickly. “Why would I be? I’m surprised that you remembered me, after all these years,” she said amiably.

It was only at that moment that Eponine willed herself to look at Cosette. As she had expected, the other girl was the very image of beauty, with her wavy brown hair brushed back neatly and held back by a white ribbon. Her eyes were bright, her skin smooth and white, even as far down as her pretty throat, which was barely exposed by the rise of her blue dress. Perhaps the only thing that betrayed her worry was her pallor, and a slight darkness under her eyes.

It was also at that moment that Eponine realized that something else was different. “What happened to my hair?” she asked as she brought her right hand up to her head. She could no longer feel her accustomed tangle dragging about past her shoulders. She bit back a shriek when she realized that her hair hardly came down past the nape of her neck.

“Toussaint had to cut it. I’m sorry,” Cosette said apologetically. “It was in quite a state, you probably know that.”

“You could have asked first!” Eponine shouted, pounding a fist indignantly on the bed. “Now I look like an invalid!” she realized with a shudder of horror and humiliation.

“I would have asked if I could have, but she did it while my back was turned,” Cosette explained.

“At least I’m not getting lice all over her pillows,” Eponine thought. She felt a cough starting in the back of her throat and she barely managed to stifle it before the pain in her side flared up again.

“You’re ill?” Cosette inquired, noticing the tears leaking out of Eponine’s eyes.

The younger girl shrugged miserably. “I’ve had the cough since I slept near a ditch. It could be worse, you know.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t get there,” Cosette said firmly. “We should get someone to look at that. Maybe that doctor friend of yours, the one who brought you here.”

It took Eponine some time to make some sense of this statement. “He’s no friend of mine. I don’t really know him, but he’s a friend of Monsieur Marius,” she said.

“When my father gets back, I’ll ask him to get a doctor,” Cosette continued. “You should rest here for as long as you need to. Where are your parents?”

“I don’t know!” Eponine replied. “Papa, I saw him some time ago---he almost robbed your old house, you know, that grand place down in the Rue Plumet. Maman, I do not know. I think she may be in Saint-Lazare.”

“In prison?” Cosette asked incredulously.

“Why am I even telling her this?” Eponine wondered for a moment. Still, it felt at the very least good to have someone to finally talk to, despite this slightly unwelcome solicitude. “Yes, I meant in prison,” she said before lying back down, this time on her right side. “For all I know, Azelma and Gavroche are still out in the streets too,” she added more softly.

If she had been watching Cosette, she might have seen the older girl crossing herself quickly. “We’ll help you, Eponine. I promise,” Cosette said. After a pause, she added, “You know, I used to wish I was your sister.”

“I’m glad you weren’t,” Eponine said petulantly.

“You aren’t much older than me. No girl our age should have as much trouble as you had,” Cosette said. “You rest now.”

_“There are others out there. I’m just the one she knows,”_ Eponine thought before closing her eyes and waiting for slumber to take her.


	3. Chapter 3

_ Finally, I can get another chapter of this up. I own one OC here, Coutard.  _

__

** Chapter 3: At the Hotel de Ville **

 

To say that the Hotel de Ville was a beehive of activity would have been a serious understatement. As Enjolras made his way through the various contingents guarding the area, he could see some of the section chiefs from the Halles already discussing furtively among themselves. To one side, some irate dandies traded insults with several students donning tricolor sashes and red caps. 

 

Just as Enjolras was about to enter the building, he caught sight of a lanky, ginger-haired figure hurrying in his direction. “ _Good to see that another one from the Courgourde still stands after this fight!”_ he thought as he stopped walking in order to meet this friend. “Good day Coutard. Are there news?” he called by way of greeting. 

****

** ** “Unfortunately there’s nothing in that way yet, my friend” Coutard replied, clasping Enjolras’ arm and thumping him on the shoulders. “It’s always straight to business with you, isn’t it?” 

 

“The situation is still rather urgent,” Enjolras replied. He could hear himself lapsing back into the accent he had used during his childhood in the Midi. 

 

Coutard only laughed in response before thumping Enjolras’ shoulder again. “Come now, we’ve already won the day! Why don’t you join us over there for some wine? It will be just like old days in Aix!” 

 

Enjolras smiled wryly at the memories that this brought up. It had been quite some time since he had left his hometown in order to pursue his studies in Paris. Since then, he’d only been back for a few short visits, mostly for his parents’ sake. In the meantime, Coutard and several other friends from school had become part of the group now known as the Courgourde of Aix. “ _And from all those little efforts comes the great push of the revolution,”_ Enjolras mused. 

 

“Maybe I will, after I finish my work here,” Enjolras replied cordially. 

 

“Your work? Ah yes, that,” Coutard grinned. “How many of you will it take to put the revolution down on paper?”

 

“For now, we will have to rely on just the section chiefs and representatives who are here in Paris. Lafayette is supposed to be here now at the Hotel de Ville, to help us work things out,” Enjolras said. 

 

It was at that moment that he caught sight of two more familiar figures running up, clearly overly excited to give some tidings. “Have you heard the news yet?” Courfeyrac greeted them enthusiastically. He had lost his cravat and his hat, his coat was open and a little tattered, but it was clear that the state of his apparel was the last thing on his mind. 

 

“What particular news?” Enjolras asked. 

 

“It’s confirmed. The pearhead king has fled for the borders,” Bahorel said, wiping his hands on his scarlet waistcoat. “He’s gone to Prussia.” 

 

Coutard cursed in Occitan while Enjolras smiled wryly. While Louis-Philippe’s flight only confirmed that Paris, and consequently the country, was now in the hands of the republicans and radicals, the fact that he had fled to Prussia also posed a new series of complications. “ _We’re going to need diplomats soon to ensure we won’t go to war with Prussia or any of our neighbors who will certainly object to this state,”_ Enjolras noted. He had to make sure to bring this up with Lafayette later. 

 

“That is good news, but we should keep a good watch on that. I imagine that the émigrés who went with him will be pestering Metternich or someone to intervene on their behalf,” Enjolras pointed out. 

 

“Which is why it is good that the army has defected to our side already,” Bahorel grinned. “I was over at the barracks when the generals officially gave over their arms to the section chiefs and hoisted the red flags.” 

 

“Enjolras, you remember that young boy who was with us, the one named Gavroche?” Courfeyrac asked. 

 

“Yes. What about him?” 

 

“He was with us earlier, but I sent him over with Bossuet to find some food. At any rate, he’s asking about his sister,” Bahorel explained. 

 

“Combeferre brought her to the Rue del’ Homme Arme, to the house of Citizen Fauchelevent,” Enjolras answered. “He’s that man who executed the spy Javert.” 

 

“An executioner and a saint. How is that possible?” Courfeyrac wondered aloud. 

 

“ _Anything_ is possible now, brother. We are in the Republic,” Coutard replied. 

 

“True. That girl, Gavroche’s sister, should have died. Marius said that she got wounded trying to save him,” Courfeyrac said. “Speaking of Marius, he is still alive, I hope?” 

 

“He should be with his grandfather in the Marais,” Enjolras replied. “ _I hope he will be received well there,”_ he thought. Judging by Marius’ reluctance to speak about his family, it was apparent that he had left home under less than happy circumstances. Could the same possibly be true for Gavroche and his sister?

 

He did not have time to ponder this, for someone shouted from a window of the Hotel de Ville, “Lafayette is ready to meet the chiefs!” 

 

“I really hope he does not sign away the revolution like the last time,” Bahorel muttered. “Enjolras, you’d better stop him if he attempts that again.” 

 

“Fortunately there is no Duc d’Orleans or any equivalent in sight,” Enjolras assured them. 

 

He took a deep breath before walking towards the door of the Hotel de Ville. Perhaps, he thought, building the barricade had been the easiest part so far of this entire venture. 


	4. Chapter 4: Restless Tidings

**Chapter 4: Restless Tidings**

The last time that Eponine had been abed for so long was when she was nine years old and ill with scarlet fever. At that time, staying under the covers had been a relief. She could not say the same though for her present situation. " _When am I going to get out of here?"_ she asked herself as she stared up once again at the ceiling of her room. Cosette had insisted and Toussaint had ordered that she stay in bed a little longer, at least till a physician could ascertain that she was fit to be up and about. The streetgirl craned her neck towards the window in a vain attempt to get a look at what was outside, but all she could see was the sunlight making strange and stark shadows out of the trees. The hubbub of the street did not penetrate into this chamber, something that calmed and worried Eponine all at once. 

She frowned as she caught sight of the empty chair near her bedside. She wished that someone would visit and sit there, even if it would just be Cosette making more lint. She listened closely for footsteps in the house, signs that Cosette was up and about. Yet the thought of her hostess, her some time foster sister, made Eponine's stomach churn, She could picture Cosette writing to Marius, Cosette puttering about and thinking what to wear around Marius, Cosette thinking about Marius, Marius dreaming of Cosette....

A light knock on the door shattered Eponine's reverie. "What now, Cosette?" she called a little crossly. 

"You have visitors," Cosette replied in an unruffled voice. "Should I give you a few minutes?" 

"No, I'm fine," Eponine replied. Anyway, what was left of her hair was hardly worth combing, and the nightdress she had on was cleaner than most things she'd worn in the past year. Still, she drew the covers up to her chest as Cosette opened the door to admit two young men, She started, recognizing them from the barricade. One was the dark haired, gentle looking doctor who'd been tending to everyone, while the other was the tall, golden haired leader of that particular redoubt, the same man who had carried her out of the place. "Good morning, Messieurs," Eponine greeted, cringing slightly as she realized that her voice came out rather cracked. 

Enjolras merely nodded by way of acknowledgment while Combeferre smiled amiably. "You're looking much better, Citizenness Thenardier," the doctor said by way of greeting. 

Eponine managed a cordial smile. "How did you know that was my name?" she asked. ' _And why are they calling me Citizenness?'_ she wondered silently as she adjusted the covers again. 

"Your brother mentioned it, and so did she," Combeferre said, nodding to Cosette. 

"Well, she would," Eponine muttered. She knew that Cosette was no fool; she had probably already figured out even the truth behind Monsieur Thenardier's sobriquets such as Fabantou and Jondrette. "You're Monsieur Combeferre and Monsieur Enjolras, aren't you?" she asked. 

"You could call us that, though 'Citizen' would suit just as well," Enjolras replied. "We have news of your brother, Gavroche." 

"Oh, where is he? Still fighting at the barricades?" Eponine asked, sitting up straight. 

An amused smile played on Enjolras' face. "There are no more barricades---or at least those still engaged in active fighting. Louis-Philippe has fled to Prussia," he explained. "Gavroche us staying with us; he's safe, but he's had a few minor scrapes. He's asking for you." 

"Just like him," Eponine said with a grin. "It's good that you've won. Have you any news of Monsieur Marius?" 

"Not much, only that he is still recovering," Combeferre chimed in. 

"Messieurs, I meant, Citizens, are you going to take a look at her injuries?" Cosette asked. 

"I will. My friend here just came to give the message," Combeferre said. "Perhaps, Citizenness Fauchelevent, you can assist me?" 

Eponine sighed, knowing there was no getting out of this examination. She heard Enjolras excuse himself and she saw him leave the room before Combeferre and Cosette could begin their inspection as well as changing the bandages. ' _Perhaps he is disgusted by me, or he is just too modest,'_ she thought. It seemed inconceivable that a man as fierce as Enjolras should lower his eyes in the presence of a woman, even one such as her. Before she could muse about this longer, she flinched on feeling a hand tugging at her bandages, and she would have protested had it not been for Cosette's reassurances. Thankfully Combeferre was methodical and Cosette was gentle, making dressing the wounds much less of an ordeal.

"It looks terrible, doesn't it?" Eponine asked after a while. 

"On the contrary, you're healing well," Combeferre replied. "Citizenness Fauchelevent and her maid have been taking good care of you." 

Cosette blushed momentarily. "I hope our care continues to suffice." 

Eponine sighed impatiently. "When can I get up again?" 

"In a day or two, if that wound in your side does not open up," Combeferre replied. "It should hopefully leave nothing more than a scar. Your left hand though...." His expression turned serious as he touched Eponine's shoulder. "I'm sorry, Citizenness, but there is a chance that you will not be able to use your hand as well as you once did." 

"What! How am I supposed to get on then?" Eponine yelled. 

"I'm sorry, Eponine," Cosette murmured sympathetically. "Surely, there is something you can still do----" 

Eponine shook her head vehemently. "You could say that," she hissed bitterly. She could not rejoin her father, Montparnasse and their friends again; they would sooner leave her out of matters after the incident at the Rue Plumet, more so now because of the condition of her hand. They would be one lookout short now, since Azelma was no good with this sort of work. 

She sat up straight again, just as Enjolras entered the room cautiously. "Can any of you gentlemen find my sister?" she asked. 

"Azelma? But doesn't she live with you?" Cosette asked. 

"She did, but we ended up in Les Madelonntes, I saw her once after, I brought biscuits for her," Eponine replied. "Maybe she's staying under Pantin." 

"Pantin?" Enjolras repeated. 

"The sewers, M'sieur. But maybe Zelma goes to the area near the Temple sometimes. We have friends there." 

"Maybe Feuilly can help us there," Enjolras mused to himself. "Where are your parents?" he asked. 

"Maman is in prison, and I do not concern myself with my father," Eponine replied in a tone that made it clear that she did not want to speak about the matter. 

Cosette shook her head. "It is a rather sad story, Citizens." 

"Why is everyone calling everyone Citizens and Citizennesses?" Eponine asked. "What else is going on outside this house?" 

"A great deal," Enjolras replied. "Hopefully it will be a better world for all, especially people such as you." 

Eponine nodded, though she could not quite comprehend exactly what he meant. "But can you find my sister?" 

"I cannot promise anything, Citizenness." 

"Please. Someone has to try. I'd do it once I'm out of here---"

"Eponine, we'd rather have you safe," Cosette protested.   
  
"You don't have a sister, so leave me be!" Eponine shot back. "Messieurs, please. Azelma is so silly, she'd do anything, she'd get into trouble and not know it...."   
  
Had she looked up, she would have seen Enjolras and Combeferre exchanging rather grave looks. "We'll ask Gavroche if he's seen her. That should be a good start," Enjolras finally said.   
  
"Thank you, M'sieur!" Eponine whispered. "Tell her I'm safe, that I'll come see her as soon as I can." She couldn't help but glance wistfully at the window, wondering what lay out there, on the quiet street. "You will, won't you?"   
  
"If we chance to meet. In the meantime, you have to focus on recovering. Don't agitate yourself too much," Combeferre advised.   
  
"And if you see Monsieur Marius, tell him that I'm alive too," Eponine added. She noticed Cosette's lips quiver slightly, as if she'd been about to say something. "When can I, no we, see him?"   
  
"His physician isn't saying anything, and I am not sure that now would be the best time to ask his grandfather for permission to visit," Combeferre said. "We're all anxious to know how he is, Citizenness, but in the meantime all we can do is wait and trust that he is in good hands and will be well soon."   
  
Eponine clenched her fists, willing herself to ignore the searing pain in her left hand


	5. Chapter 5: In Which The Place Saint-Michel Proves Inadequate To Hold the Revolution

_A/N: A minor OC named here, Michel Potier._

**Chapter 5: In Which The Place Saint-Michel Proves Inadequate To Hold the Revolution**

           Even though it had been several days since the worst of the fighting had ended, many parts of Paris were still in disorderly shambles. ‘ _Some would say that tearing all of this down would be a good thing,’_ Enjolras thought later that day as he saw some workingmen and children cleaning up debris that had fallen from the facade of an old house along the Rue Jean Jacques Rousseau.

             Combeferre touched his shoulder as they walked. “I know you probably already understand this, but finding Citizenness Thenardier’s younger sister will be easier said than done,” he said in an undertone. “The clue about being at the Temple is good and all, but where else can we possibly begin?”

              “Not where, but with _who_ ,” Enjolras said. It was evident now that Eponine, Gavroche, and the rest of their family were likely to be connected to the Parisian underworld, a whole class of people usually heard of only in the Prefecture’s police blotters, and spoken of in dread whispers. Though a few of Enjolras’ friends in and out of the Amis del’ABC had some shady dealings, none of them ever achieved the same degree of notoriety as the gang Patron-Minette did. “ _Our brothers, yes, but not exactly our friends,’_ Enjolras thought as they walked a little further towards the Place Saint-Michel.

           The harshest fighting had spared this area; only a few broken windows and dislodged masonry serving as any evidence of combat. Enjolras’ eyebrows shot upwards with surprise as he saw that the street was full of men and a number of women, and that still more people were seated in the Cafe Musain. He recognized in the throng many of the members of Les Amis del’ABC, the Courgarde of Aix, the Society of the Friends of the People, as well as numerous other volunteers he’d met in and out of the Rue de la Chanvrerie.

             Feuilly slipped out of the cafe and motioned for Enjolras and Combeferre to come closer. “More news from the borders,” the fanmaker said. He looked no worse for wear, but only more tired and yet more excited from the past few days’ activity.

             “Which ones?” Combeferre asked.

             “Louis Philippe was met personally by Metternich. Naturally there is outrage in Prussia and Austria. Other nobles and bourgeoisie are now _émigré_ ,” Feuilly said, adjusting his rather tattered cap.

           “Around how many?” Enjolras asked worriedly. Of course the recent developments would naturally frighten many of the once-powerful and send them scurrying for climes more suited to their sensibilities. However far too many of these elements in one place was likely to lead at least to unrest, at worst to an open counterrevolution.

             “At least thirty reported to have passed through Metz. There have been some apprehensions, some rough work here and there, and quite a few people in Metz hurt for it,” shouted a young man who Enjolras recognized as a classmate, Michel Potier.  “So who is sitting now at the Hotel De Ville, Enjolras?”

              “Lafayette is in charge of it, for the next few days,” Enjolras replied, finding a seat on a paving stone. He noticed that everyone had leaned in closer to listen. “He’s spoken to some of the chiefs. Charles Jeanne is the spokesman for the working men, especially those of Les Halles. Then of course there are the respective leaders of each group.”

Courfeyrac cleared his throat. “It sounds rather unwieldy. There must be what, at least a dozen named in Paris, and you among them,” he said as he dusted off his hat.

              ‘ _Exactly my fear,’_ Enjolras thought. So far, there was little disagreement between the different factions involved in the first wave of the revolution in Paris. Yet it was an uneasy peace; sooner or later interests would make themselves known and there would be dissenting voices. “Any news yet from elsewhere?” he asked.

              “We were just discussing it. Lyon is already on the rise, and Aix too, as we’ve planned. Rumor has it too that Marseille is also starting. Hopefully it won’t be long till we hear from the rest of the Midi,” Bahorel said. He moved gingerly, owing to his right arm being bound up in a large sling. “More reports too from the north: Rouen, Amiens, and Reims have come to our side too.”

              “Nothing from Meaux?” a workingman asked Bossuet, who was lounging against the windowsill of the Musain.

              The balding former law student smiled. “In time. I have nothing unfavourable to say though.” He glanced down at his shoes, which were beginning to come apart at the seams. “Joly is inside with Musichetta,” he added.

               “Ah yes,” Enjolras nodded. He had not seen Joly ever since the latter had been summoned to tend to some of the wounded at the area of Picpus. That had been more than five days ago. He made his way through the crowd, all the way to the backroom. He pushed the door open a crack and peered in. The place was illuminated by a single lamp set up on a table strewn with bandages, lint, and some medical equipment. A dark haired woman, none other than Joly’s long time mistress Musichetta, sat nearby with a torn shirt spread out on her lap. Joly himself was poring over a thick tome, his brow knotted with worry under his thick spectacles.

             Enjolras cleared his throat. “Good afternoon. Am I interrupting anything?” he greeted.

             Joly put down his book. “Enjolras! Where have you been?”

              “I’ve been busy,” Enjolras replied. “Is all well?”

              “As can be,” Musichetta said, putting down her sewing. She stood up and put her hands akimbo. “I do not know whether to be angry with you for putting my Patrice in danger, or to thank you for sending him back safe.”

             “Come now, Chetta, you know I was there out of my own doing---“ Joly protested.

            “Oh hush, Patrice! He’s the leader and he almost put you in danger,” Musichetta snapped. However her eyes were still bright with good cheer as she looked at Enjolras again. “All the same, I’m glad to hear it’s all going well for you. So the King is never coming back?”

              “I don’t think so,” Enjolras replied.

              “He’d better not; he looked rather sickly with the nerves---“ Joly chimed in.

              Musichetta gave Joly a long-suffering look, while Enjolras merely smirked at his hypochondriac friend’s ramble. “He of all people knows that this climate isn’t suited for him, and that the people’s pulse beats differently,” Enjolras said. “I was with Combeferre all day, while Courfeyrac, Feuilly, Bossuet, and Bahorel are outside. Where are Prouvaire and Grantaire?”

             “Right here!” a voice boomed. Enjolras turned to see his two previously absent friends now in the doorway of the backroom. Prouvaire, who’d also been wounded at the barricade, was wearing a rather oddly shaped coat over his bandaged chest. He leaned on Grantaire for support. As for Grantaire, he was dressed in a clean Robespierre waistcoat, and standing up rather straight.

              Enjolras blinked, noticing the apparent change in Grantaire. “You aren’t---“

              “Imbibing of the nectar of the gods?” Grantaire said with a grin. “It is a little early for that, and the absinthe does not seem fit for the revelry---“

              “I think I quite get the picture for now, Grantaire,” Enjolras replied seriously, going to help Prouvaire into a chair. “You should have rested a little longer, my friend,” he said to the poet.

            “And missed all of this? Not for the world, Enjolras, not when someone has to write about it,” Prouvaire said. His usually cheery face was drawn with a little pain, but he managed to smile anyway. “I fear that my ribs may not be quite right. Joly, if you are not too busy---“

              “Any time,” Joly said, hurrying over while Musichetta brought the lamp. Enjolras took the opportunity to drag Grantaire out of the room in order to give his friends some privacy. They rejoined the rest of the group outside, where Combeferre was discussing matters rather seriously with Feuilly and Courfeyrac.

             Combeferre nodded to Enjolras and Grantaire. “Gavroche is still staying with Bahorel. He won’t be anywhere else,” he informed his friend.

              “I sent him on with his friend Navet to speak with some friends from the Midi,” Bahorel chimed in from where he was sampling a cigar. “They should be back in my apartments before supper.”

             “Gavroche’s older sister is still at the Rue del Homme’ Arme,” Enjolras said. “He has another sister though, by the name of Azelma. Has he ever mentioned her?”

              “Not a word,” Bahorel said.

             Courfeyrac was deep in thought. “Marius did say that Eponine had a sister. But nothing specific. Perhaps she is on the streets too?”

              “With Patron-Minette then,” Feuilly said. “No, Enjolras. I don’t think that we should hastily approach them. Though they did ask to join our numbers, too many know what they are like.”

            “Then what do you propose we do then?” Combeferre asked.

              “We have to ask Gavroche to lead us, to talk to one of them. That, or wait for Citizeness Thenardier to recover,” Feuilly counselled.

             “Lead you to where?” a smooth voice greeted. The young men turned to see a newcomer leaning against a wall. He was dressed at the height of fashion, everything from his hat to the tips of his toes would have had any dandy envious. In fact even Courfeyrac, the one known best for his sartorial tastes, couldn’t help but nod approvingly.

              Enjolras eyed this stranger critically. “Who are you?”

            The dark haired man gave him a slight smile. “You need not know my name. I know you’re only interested in the younger Thenardier girl.” His long fingers toyed with the flower in his buttonhole. “What is she to you?”

            “Her sister is in our care. She was wounded at the barricade,” Combeferre replied. “She wishes to know of her sister’s whereabouts.”

             The sinister young man smirked. “Tell Eponine that Azelma is safe, and minding her own business. That should content her enough.”

             “Who should I say the news came from?” Enjolras asked.

              “She will know me well enough,” the man said before walking back the way he came, where he was quickly lost to sight in the shadows.

            Feuilly shook his head as he glanced at the rest of his companions. “I knew that one when he was a gamin. Back before he grew fond of using a knife.”

              It quickly dawned on Enjolras which particular member of Patron Minette had just made his appearance. “Pierre Montparnasse. Can he be trusted?”

              “As far as you can throw him,” Feuilly said. “But ask the young lady. Maybe she might have a different opinion.”

             Enjolras shook his head. This was not a line of enquiry he was particularly eager to pursue


	6. Chapter 6: Words He Will Never Say

**Chapter 6: Words He Will Never Say**

It was another day till Eponine finally saw her opportunity. While Cosette was accompanying her father on a brief errand, and Toussaint was engaged in some dusting and washing, Eponine gingerly stepped out of her bed. She winced, already preparing for the fiery pain that she would surely feel in her side. To her surprise though, the only accompanying sensation was a dull and tolerable ache. ‘ _I’ve seen myself through worse,’_ she told herself as she searched for something to wear. She figured that Cosette and Toussaint must have done away with the tattered workingman’s clothes she’d worn at the barricade.  ‘ _Well it’s only fair then that I borrow something then,’_ she reasoned as she tiptoed into the room which she knew to be that of Cosette.  
  
This chamber was not furnished very differently from Eponine’s room; in fact the only personal touches here were Cosette’s clothes and her neat little blotter. Nevertheless, Eponine felt a rather familiar heat in her chest as she surveyed the fresh linens on the bed and the elegant flow of the dresses billowing in the closet. In the deep recesses of her memory, these images were familiar. ‘ _These should have still been mine,’_ she told herself as she ran her hands over the small desk, then the bed’s headboard, and the long sash window.

She heard Toussaint’s step elsewhere in the house, nearly making her jump. Eponine quickly snatched the nearest dress, which was straight-cut with a high collar and fashioned in blue damask. Having nothing to serve as a chemise or petticoat, she simply pulled this garment on over her nightdress. Her fingers shook as she fumbled with the clasps of the dress, all the while ignoring the pain that shot through her hand at every movement. ‘ _Oh Marius, if you only knew!’_ she thought as she hurried back to her room. She waited for Toussaint to return to the kitchen before quickly dashing downstairs and out onto the Rue de L’Homme Arme.

Eponine gasped as she felt the pain in her side flare up again. ‘ _How far must I go to find him?’_ she wondered as she rounded the corner of the street. Although she was still wobbly from several days of being abed, her cough had almost left her and she could feel strength returning to her body. She could not quite remember what the young men had said about Marius’ address, only that it was in the Marais. ‘ _I should have asked Monsieur Enjolras or Monsieur Combeferre!”_ she berated herself as she trudged along. Hailing a fiacre was out of the question; the dress she’d ‘borrowed’ did not even have a single sou in its pockets. She looked around for a hay cart or wagon she could beg a ride from, at least till she could get in the neighbourhood of the Marais.

s she trudged her way towards a larger road, she got the odd sense that she was being watched. She wheeled around to see a young man, dressed in the uniform of a lancer. “What are you looking at, M’sieur?” Eponine asked crossly.

The young man bowed politely. “Are you in need of assistance, Mademoiselle?”

ponine couldn’t help but smile; she preferred this form of address to ‘Citizeness’. “M’sieur, could you help me get to the Marais?” she asked.

“Well of course, I was just headed that way. Now that there are two of us, it would make more sense to take a fiacre,” he said. He reached for her hand and kissed her fingertips. “Theodule Gillenormand, at your service, Mademoiselle....”

“Eponine,” she replied.

“Is there another name that goes with that?”

“I shan’t reveal it yet.” She stood up as straight as she could, determined not to appear any more unseemly than she probably already did. This man, she decided, was quite unlike Montparnasse, who was frightening, or Marius, who was sweet and gentlemanly, or even Enjolras, who was only startling. Unlike all of these young men, he was arrayed in a proper uniform, with an elegantly groomed moustache, and a definite air of superiority. “What are you doing in the Marais, M’sieur Theodule? I don’t think there is much fighting there.”

“Visiting an aunt of mine, at 6 Rue des Filles du Calvaire,” Theodule replied as he signed to a passing fiacre. “And you?”

“Looking for a friend of mine,” Eponine said as Theodule helped her into the carriage. As she sat down, she wondered if she should ask this lancer if by any chance he knew Marius. “He was wounded at the barricades, M’sieur. I don’t suppose you might have met him, his name is Marius Pontmercy.”

A startled look spread over Theodule’s face, and his eyebrows rose nearly to meet the lowest extremes of his hairline. “Well, that is my cousin!”

“Oh!” Eponine nearly fell over, as the fiacre jostled over a rough part of the road. “You two do not look like cousins!”

“I am a relation on his mother’s side. I take after my father, and so does he,” Theodule explained. His eye wandered down to Eponine’s bandaged left hand, which was on her lap. “You’re hurt, Mademoiselle Eponine?”

“A little accident,” Eponine blurted out. She covered her mouth with her other hand, suddenly feeling awkward at this untruth. “Well not so much of an accident, really. M’sieur Marius was at the barricade. A soldier had a gun pointed at him. I stopped it with my hand. It went through me and I fell. A good thing that M’sieur Marius found me some time after and got his friends to help me!”

Theodule looked at her confusedly. “And what were you doing at the barricade?”  
  
“I came to see,” Eponine said more slowly. “And you, M’sieur Theodule? What were you doing in those days?”  
  
“I was with my regiment of course. We were stationed at the Babylone, near the Rue Plumet, but we were told to join the detachment to defend the Hotel de Ville.” The lancer shook his head with displeasure. “You do know of course, Mademoiselle, that we were forced to surrender anyway. So much the better, enough of us had died already trying to take down those barricades.”  
  
 Eponine only nodded. ‘ _Well others died inside the barricade too,’_ she thought. She had not seen them fall, but she had heard them while she was half-conscious, and besides, Combeferre had looked grim while tending to all the wounded. She half-listened to Theodule’s ensuing stories about his time in combat, interrupting him only from time to time to ask about some detail or two.  
  
At length, they arrived at the Gillenormand residence. Eponine did not wait for Theodule to assist her; she sprang out of the carriage and ran up to the step. She banged on the door, until it was opened by a rather startled porter. “Is Monsieur Marius here?’ she asked breathlessl  
  
“He is resting, Mademoiselle,” the servant replied. “Are you a friend of his?”  
  
Eponine nodded. “A former neighbour. Can’t I see him, just for a moment?”  
  
Behind her, Theodule shook his head. “Basque, isn’t it? Is my aunt receiving visitors today?”  
  
Basque nodded, recognizing the lancer. “Ah Monsieur Gillenormand, she is in her sitting room. I shall show you in. Is the young lady with you?”  
  
Theodule nodded stiffly. “She merely wishes to see my cousin, and she will not disturb Mademoiselle---wait, come back here!” Before he could bar Eponine’s way, the girl had bolted inside the house and raced up the nearest stairway.  
  
Although her lungs burned with the effort of her run, Eponine dashed from door to door, knocking on those she found locked and throwing open the others. “Marius! Monsieur Marius!” she called frantically as she hurried down the hall. She could smell something rich cooking downstairs; the very aroma was enough to send her stomach rumbling, but she willed herself to ignore the hunger pangs. At last she got to a door that was just slightly ajar. She peered inside and caught sight of a man lying in bed, with the covers drawn up to his chest.  
  
Eponine pushed the door open and ran to Marius’ bedside. “Oh M’sieur Marius, don’t you know me? It’s me, Eponine!” she called. She would have reached for his hand under the bedclothes, but she saw his shoulder and his arm were bandaged. In fact, much of him was swathed in gauze and lint; the linen on his head almost obscured his face. Seeing him in this state was almost enough to make Eponine feel ill; how could she have lured him to the barricade for him to end up in this state? On closer inspection, his skin was still pale, and his breathing was shallow, as if he was in a fitful sleep.  
  
 ‘ _Is he dreaming of Cosette?’_ Eponine wondered as she touched his cheek, the only part of him she felt she could safely come in contact with. Marius groaned and stirred, till at last his eyes opened slowly. He blinked at her confusedly for a moment. “What---“  
  
“You’re awake! Oh good God! Monsieur Marius, it’s me, Eponine!” the girl nearly wept.  
  
Marius’ eyes darkened with recognition and he shook his head. “No. What are you doing here?”  
  
“Seeing you!”  
  
 “You got shot!” he whispered. “You fell down, I saw them pick you up. You did not move---“  
  
 “I only fainted. You fainted too, when you fell off the barricade,” Eponine said. “Oh please, aren’t you happy that I did not die?”  
  
Marius moved his lips as if he was unsure of what to say. “I found the letter you carried. You saw Cosette, and you did not tell me.”  
  
At these words, Eponine was dumbfounded. ‘ _How did he find it?’_ she wondered. She remembered now; she had been spying outside the Rue Plumet, and had given Cosette’s father that message to ‘Remove’. She had seen Cosette in the garden, and taken the letter that the girl had asked her to post. ‘ _And yet they still took me in?’_ she wondered as she fell to her knees.  
  
“Monsieur Marius, please forgive me. I would have given it to you anyway....” she trailed off. “Oh won’t you look at me? Please don’t be angry!”  
  
“Would you have given it? It was Enjolras who had to give the letter to me after Combeferre and Joly found it on you---I’m only thankful I was still able to read it!” Marius shot back. He gasped and groaned as pain wracked him.  “So she is in Calais now, it does not matter---“  
  
“Monsieur, she is not---“ Eponine protested just as the bedroom door opened wider. She turned around and saw an old man standing there, his face livid.  
  
 “Grandfather----“ Marius trailed off.  
  
 Luc-Esprit Gillenormand strode up to Eponine. “You will remove yourself from this room now, you blood-drinker! After the barricade, then coming to disturb my grandson in his condition! I will not allow it, not in this house! You get away from him before you ruin him!”  
  
 “M’sieur I did not mean any harm!” Eponine cried. She could not understand the oaths and imprecations that Gillenormand was now hurling at her; she only had eyes for Marius, who had fallen again into a swoon. She saw now what he had seen: a ragged, ugly girl lacking in all elegance and perhaps even honesty. Nothing, not even Cosette’s best dresses or Theodule’s gallantry could get him to look at her again. ‘ _I am wretched,’_ she thought even as she felt hands dragging her out of the room and down the stairs.  
  
The last thing she saw at the door was Gillenormand’s face. “If any more of you Jacobins come to my door, I shall call the police. You may have won your revolution, but there is still some law here, isn’t there? Now don’t trouble us again!” the old man ordered as he slammed the door shut.  
  
“M’sieur, wait!” Eponine shrieked, but she could hear the gentleman walking away. She called for Theodule, but the lancer did not make his appearance. She yelled and kicked at the door, but on hearing Basque and Gillenormand approach again, she fled.  
  
 was she to go now? Gorbeau House was abandoned. Patron-Minette was scattered. She did not dare go into the sewers in her condition. She thought of the Rue de la Verrerie, where she knew Marius’ friend Courfeyrac was lodging. Would he be there now if he was so busy? Resignedly, she set her feet in the direction again of the Rue del L’Homme Arme.  
  
 It was afternoon by the time she came in sight of the house. By this time she was exhausted, her stomach painful with hunger and her head aching from having walked so long in the early summer heat. Nevertheless she managed not to collapse as she entered the gate. She knocked on the door of those humble lodgings twice, bracing herself to be met by either  Cosette or Toussaint.    
  
It was Cosette’s father who opened the door. “There you are, Citizenness Thenardier. We have been worried about you!” he said, catching her arm so she would not stumble.  
  
Eponine sighed as she hung her head. “I had to see the outside again, M’sieur.”  
  
Citizen Fauchelevent nodded as he led Eponine to her room and bid Toussaint to give her some water, food, and something clean to wear. Although the Fauchelevents ate only simply; the repast set before Eponine was little more than bread and a hearty vegetable stew, the fare could have been that of a king’s feast as far as the streetgirl was concerned.  
  
As Eponine was eating, Cosette entered the room. “Eponine, where have you been? When Papa and I came back and found you gone, we thought you’d run off.”  
  
At the sound of Cosette’s voice, Eponine looked up. Seeing _her_ there filled her throat with bile and a heat she could no longer control. “What, and you’ve never thought of Marius?” she blurted out.  
  
“I’ve been worried about Marius. Every day. I make lint for him, I would see him if I could receive word on how he is,” Cosette said as she sat down.  
  
Eponine sneered at her. “I saw him today. That’s where I went, off to see him.”  
  
Cosette’s eyes widened and her jaw dropped for a moment. “How did you? He lives so far away from here! Did you walk?”  
  
“Not the entire way,” Eponine said. “He won’t see anyone.” It was a slight omission, Eponine knew, but she could not bring herself to explain the matter fully.  
  
“Why so?”  
  
“He just will not!”  
  
Cosette’s hands shook. “Marius asked me, he told me in his letter that he had wanted to marry me. I know he was earnest. There has to be some explanation, some way I could reach him----“  
  
 “He thinks you’re in Calais!” Eponine snapped. “And you may as well not bother, _Alouette,_ ” she added, lapsing into the childhood nickname for her.  
  
“Eponine, what are you saying?”  
  
 “He’s never coming for you, Cosette!”  
  
For a long moment Cosette stared at Eponine, as if trying to make sense of the other girl’s words. “Just call if you need some help,” Cosette finally murmured before slowly getting to her feet and hurrying out of the room and closing the door behind her. She did not weep, but she and her father talked in hushed voices in the hall.  
  
Try as she may, Eponine could not hear their conversation. ‘ _Well, what is she going to do now?’_ she asked herself. There was no telling if Cosette would persist in trying to contact Marius, but it was clear she was hurt by these news.  
  
Eponine frowned as she considered this state of affairs. Now that she’d said something, only an emptiness was left on her lips. There was no telling if she’d ever muster anything again, at least regarding this matter 


	7. Chapter 7: Troubles Unlooked For

_A/N: Oddly enough, for an E/E, there is surprisingly little interaction between the two. Updates will be a little sporadic for some days, as I will be out of town._

**Chapter 7: Troubles Unlooked For**

‘ _From the streets to the Hotel De Ville. You did not expect this,’_ Enjolras thought wryly as he reviewed yet another lengthy list of rules and orders. He glanced at his watch and shook his head; had it only been less than two hours since Lafayette had summoned him and the other revolutionary leaders to yet another important meeting? He took a deep breath as he looked back at the document he had in hand. Although revolution and its aftermath had dwelt on his mind since his eighteenth birthday, being part of the new provisional government of the Second Republic was definitely more than he had ever asked for.  

Yet that somehow was not the opinion of some of the people around him. It had unnerved him to hear Bahorel and Grantaire asking him about what were the government’s next moves, as if he was assured of a place in the temporary executive committee that had been put up. Other revolutionaries had also talked to him in much the same fashion. Even his parents’ letter, recently delivered from Aix, had asked if there was any need of representatives to be sent from the Midi to help in Paris. ‘ _So many questions that I cannot answer, not today at least,’_ he thought.

He had managed to pull up a rickety chair in the hallway when he heard a familiar step on a nearby stairwell. “Have a seat, Courfeyrac,” he called by way of greeting. He would have known those footfalls anywhere.

“Gladly,” Courfeyrac said, hurrying up and depositing himself on a sturdier looking bench. The poor dandy was red in the face and thoroughly out of breath. He wiped his face before reaching into his coat pockets for a flask. “Fancy some brandy?”

“No, but thank you anyway,” Enjolras said, putting down his reading. The mention of liquid though had him wishing for a glass of water. He touched Courfeyrac’s shoulder lightly. “Something happened?”

Courfeyrac nodded before mopping up more sweat on his forehead. “I came all the way from the Marais, and then the Rue de L’Homme Arme.” He opened up the flask he’d brought and took a short swig of the liquor. “Poor Marius. Abed much of this week, and unable to do much about his personal affairs. He was almost left behind by everything that’s going on.”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow; the past 24 hours had left him unable to inquire much about what was going on outside the Hotel De Ville. In response to this bemused expression, Courfeyrac laughed. “I see Combeferre and Prouvaire haven’t told you yet of what just happened with Citizenness Thenardier and the Fauchelevents?” he added.

“Not yet.” Enjolras did recall though that Combeferre had paid a visit to the Rue de L’Homme Arme some time yesterday. “How is this connected with Pontmercy?”

Courfeyrac let out a long-suffering sigh. “You do know that Marius was courting the lovely Citizenness Fauchelevent? That’s quite charming, except that Citizenness Thenardier has something more than a _tendre_ where he is concerned.”

Enjolras’ eyebrows shot up again. “You went all around Paris for this sort of intrigue?” He had known Courfeyrac to go to great lengths to iron out his own romantic entanglements, but to intervene in Marius’ affairs was a new horizon altogether.

“Only to help Marius!” Courfeyrac pointed out. “Really now Enjolras, even _you_ would understand the matter perfectly once I’ve explained it. Well Citizenness Thenardier was a bit too rash; she paid a visit to Marius and only brought down the ire of his grandfather. The old Royalist banned all visitors from the house; he presumed we were all Jacobins out to destroy his grandson’s health. Of course the matter got back to Citizenness Fauchelevent, and she was upset about it.”

“That is to be expected,” Enjolras concurred patiently. “Where do you all come in?”

“The lady of the house---meaning Citizenness Fauchelevent, confided in Combeferre. He was intent on simply writing a polite note to explain the matter, but Prouvaire and I knew that it wouldn’t be enough. So we went to the Marais to enlighten the gentleman.”

“I do hope you were successful.”

“Oh more than,” Courfeyrac said, his smile turning triumphant. “I’ll spare you the details of the Romance, but as we speak, Citizenness Fauchelevent and her father are still visiting Marius. I doubt they shall be done soon, now that Marius is at least able to be moved into a chair so he can talk and receive company. He wishes all of us well and says you ought to visit.”

Enjolras smiled, imagining his young friend happily conversing with Cosette. It was good to imagine someone else happy. “I shall, when I can find the opportunity.”  

Courfeyrac’s expression had grown merry. “I bet twenty francs that Citizeness Fauchelevent will become Madame Pontmercy by the end of the year.”

“Let Pontmercy see if he can stand at the church first, and then you can all talk of the wedding. It may be a while yet,” Enjolras advised.

“He’d do it even if he had to lean on me for support,” Courfeyrac said. He leaned back against the dusty bench, then sat up straight to dust some splinters off his coat.  “Though this has all been hard on Citizenness Thenardier. There is a girl who does not wish to be consoled save by one man.”

The mention again of Eponine brought back to Enjolras’ mind the last conversation he had with her. “When I gave her news of her brother, she mentioned she had a sister. Did Pontmercy mention anything about her?”

“Another Thenardier? Not a word. And what use would it be to ask Marius; the boy is secretive enough as it is,” Courfeyrac replied. He stowed his flask back in his coat. “Bossuet, Joly, Feuilly, and I were going to make amends with Mother Hucheloup over at Corinth. I am sure she would want to see you too.”

‘ _After our blocking off the street and putting some bullet holes in the bistro? I am very sure,’_ Enjolras mused ruefully. Well he had to at least set things right in order to lessen whatever grief or ill will came of the affair at the Rue de Chanvrerie. “If you can wait half an hour, I shall join you.”

Courfeyrac let out a relieved breath and nodded. “We’re in no hurry.”

Despite Enjolras reading as swiftly as he could, the complexity of the document required more than the span of time he’d promised Courfeyrac. An hour elapsed before the two young men excused themselves from the Hotel De Ville and began making their way to Les Halles. The late afternoon was decidedly milder, so they walked instead of hailing a fiacre.

Just as they entered the district, Enjolras caught sight of a tiny but jaunty figure munching a crust of bread while seated atop a paving stone. “Gavroche!” he greeted.

The gamin looked up and saluted by way of greeting, nearly getting crumbs all over his reddish hair. “What pickings are you making? The market is closing for the day.”

“Not pickings, greetings,” Courfeyrac said. “Where are the others?”

“Ah you mean Citizen Bahorel? At court.”

“Court?” Enjolras asked confusedly.

“Courting a lady, that’s what,” Gavroche replied impetuously. “You two are not a good pair for walking.”

“Maybe for finding,” Courfeyrac retorted. “Gavroche, have you got news of your sister?”

“I thought you would know. She’s at the Rue de l’Homme Arme,” the boy said, wrapping his scarf around his thin neck.

“Not that sister,” Enjolras amended. What was that name that Eponine had mentioned? He ran his hand through his hair as he tried to recall the details of that talk. “Your sister Azelma,” he said at last.

Gavroche’s cheery expression soured. “She’s over with four men you have no business with.”

Four men, undoubtedly Patron-Minette. Enjolras paused, now remembering Montparnasse’s appearance at the Place Saint-Michel. “Why is she with them?”

Gavroche stuck his chin out. “It’s not a good book for you to read.”

“I must know,” Enjolras said insistently. Before he could ask Gavroche anything more, he heard heavier footsteps on the cobblestones.

A colossus of a man stood in front of them. “Who have you got there, _mome?”_ he asked.

“Friends. Poor friends, Monsieur Gueulemer,” Gavroche said, standing up as straight as he could.

A more girlish giggle pierced the dusk; a girl had materialized beside this giant. “How can they be poor, Gavroche? You know they are students!” the girl said. She had black hair that hung in grimy strands and her face was gaunt and wasted, but despite this, the resemblance between her and Gavroche was very clear, and she had something of Eponine’s manner. There could be no question as to her name.

“We have no quarrel with the two of you,” Courfeyrac said. “It’s not going to be a profitable night if you have us to deal with.”

Enjolras’ eyes narrowed as Gueulemer and Azelma exchanged looks. “Citizenness Thenardier, your sister is asking for you,” he said.

Azelma started. “How do you know Eponine?”

“We met at the barricade.”

The girl crossed her arms, clearly not wishing to hear this. “She was being silly, I bet.”

“She’s wounded and worrying about you.”

Gueulemer nudged Azelma, and the girl hung back as if to give the giant some room. Courfeyrac pushed Gavroche out of the way as Gueulemer lunged. Before the giant could whirl on them with his fists, Enjolras managed to knock him down with a well-placed kick to his midsection. He pinned down Gueulemer with a knee to his torso, but when he looked up he saw that Azelma had a knife to Courfeyrac’s throat.

“Stay back! You let him up or he gets it!” the girl shrieked.

Enjolras glared at her. “Put down the knife, Citizenness---“

“Don’t you use those words on me!” Azelma spat. Yet this was enough; her grip loosened and Courfeyrac wrested the knife away from his neck. In a moment he had secured her with his hands gripping her arms behind her back.

Gueulemer cursed as he tried to get free, but Enjolras was stronger. “What do you want?”

“Simply news,” Enjolras replied. He looked at Azelma, who was breathing hard. “Your sister wants you safe. What shall I tell her?”

Azelma’s eyes were hard. “Nothing. I am doing fine, she need not look out for me.” She scowled even when Courfeyrac let go of her. “When she stops being silly over that stupid Baron, maybe I’ll give her a word or two. She’s useless as it is.”

Enjolras sighed as he let go of Gueulemer. “Someday, you two will _not_ have to do this.”

“What, your revolution will see to that?” Azelma mocked, extending her hand to Gueulemer, who took it and led her back into the darkness.

Gavroche looked around, clearly stunned by what had just transpired. “You’ve knocked down a mountain!” he blurted out.

Courfeyrac ruffled the boy’s hair. “Not very easily. We’d better go before they return, or someone else.”  He frowned as he adjusted his cravat. “Think that a mirror will still be there in Corinth?”

Enjolras smirked at his friend’s usual vanity and reached out to dust off Courfeyrac’s coat. “That knife damaged it, I see?”

“No, only unruffled. At least I am far from my mistress’ lodgings---“

“It is already fine, Courfeyrac, there is no need to worry!” Enjolras said, straightening out his own clothing. He was about to ask Gavroche to join them, but he saw the boy run off after two smaller children tiptoeing past. He stepped forward to ask, but heard a crunching sound under his feet.

Courfeyrac groaned, stopping Enjolras with a hand on his shoulder. “Your pocketwatch. It got smashed in the fight.”

Enjolras’ brow furrowed as he picked up the remains of his timepiece. ‘ _Another trouble unlooked for,’_ he thought ruefully as he pocketed the ruined watch, then walked on with Courfeyrac towards Corinth 


	8. Chapter 8: Misery is Divorced From Bliss

**Chapter 8: Misery is Divorced From Bliss**

“Alone, alone, so alone.”

Of course Eponine had not expected a reply to this statement, but even so, the silence made her slump further in her chair. ‘ _Good thing that Gavroche and Azelma are not around to see this,’_ she thought as she got to her feet and began to pace. It had been some days since the latest visit from Courfeyrac, during which she’d learned of Azelma’s recent alliance with Patron-Minette. In that span of time, Gavroche had not even deigned to visit. Now, with Cosette once again visiting Marius, Eponine was desperately lacking for company as well as any semblance of reassurance.

The very quiet of the street was becoming more and more oppressive by the day. ‘ _How long till Cosette will turn me out?’_ she wondered as she rested her forehead against the windowpane. Surely she knew now of the entire story behind Marius’ presence at the barricade? Was it only the magnanimity of Cosette’s father that ensured that Eponine still had a place to sleep in at night? ‘ _It cannot last forever,’_ Eponine decided as she put on a clean dress that Toussaint had set aside for her.

For the first time in many days, Eponine stood in front of a looking glass. She ran her fingers through her hair, which was no longer messily cropped, but now almost grazing her shoulders. Her cheeks were far from rosy, but at least the bones in her face stood out a little less. ‘ _Of course he never looked at you so well, not with his Mademoiselle always on his mind,’_ she berated herself. Nevertheless she still put on a pair of shoes and then walked out of the house.

Whether by a trick of memory or fate, she eventually found herself at 6 Rue des Filles du Calvaire, just as the sun was beginning to set. She swallowed hard as she saw the doorstep, already imagining angry voices accosting her. A flutter of movement at a downstairs window caught her attention. ‘ _It must be rather warm in there for them to sit like that,’_ she thought as she crept alongside some bushes till she was nearly under the sill. She looked up briefly to catch the barest glimpse of Marius and Cosette talking in the parlor, with Cosette’s father in a corner, apparently chaperoning the duo. Marius was dressed to receive company, though his arm was still swathed in bandages. Cosette had on a dress the color of a fresh pink rose, and her hair was swept back rather becomingly.

“I almost cannot believe it, Marius. You said yourself that your grandfather would be difficult to persuade,” Cosette laughed.

“He had only to meet you to understand why I want to spend my life with you,” Marius said, his voice brimming with adoration. “In a few months we’ll be married. You do know that my being a Baron means almost nothing, especially now with this Republic in place.”

“I’d marry you even if you were a pauper,” Cosette insisted. “You told me once I’d pity you if I saw how destitute you were. But I never cared about that, not one bit!”

“Oh Cosette, you’re an angel!”

“If you wish to believe so.” When Cosette spoke again, her voice was sad. “I wish though only one more thing could have happened.”

“Which is?” Marius asked worriedly.

“That my mother could be with us.”

Eponine bit the inside of her cheek as she crouched further in her hiding place. ‘ _How can Cosette still wish for someone who left her behind?’_ she wondered. She knew this was the reason that Cosette had ever come to live at the Thenardiers’ inn. The exact circumstances were hazy; all Eponine could remember was a baby in a white dress—that was Cosette, and the one who had brought her there was a lady with long golden hair. Then of course there were the things that had happened after: the few francs that were mailed to the family every month, and her parents writing letters, discussing sometimes how much money they would ask for this time. ‘ _Was the money so that we wouldn’t say a thing about what was happening?’_ she wondered.

She did not even have to take another look to confirm her suspicion: Cosette’s ‘father’ was in no way related to her. If so, did Marius know? Did anyone know?

Eponine bit her lip as she marched up to the door and knocked on it twice. This time it was a maid who greeted her. “Who are you looking for, Citizenness?” she asked.

Eponine tried not to frown at this form of address, even as she dropped an awkward curtsy. “I need to speak to Monsieur---I mean, Citizen Pontmercy. It is so, so urgent,” she said.

“I’m afraid he’s already with another visitor,” the maid said daintily.

A door opened elsewhere in the house. “Nicolette, I need you,” a sharp-faced woman said from another room. “Who is at the door?”

“A girl who says she needs to speak with Marius,” Nicolette replied.

“It’s about Citizenness Fauchelevent,” Eponine chimed in.

The woman in the hall strode over to the door. “Who are you?”

“A friend. A former neighbour of his,” Eponine said. At least it was the truth.

“Is it so urgent that you have to disturb my nephew and his guests?” the lady asked.

“It concerns them all,” Eponine replied, hoping she sounded smart and believable. She breathed a sigh of relief when she was allowed to enter the room. She lost no time in rushing to the parlor, nearly bowling over a manservant in her hurry.

“Eponine, what on earth are you doing here?” Marius asked, trying to get to his feet out of politeness’ sake.

The girl stopped to catch her breath. “I need to speak with you, Monsieur. There is something you must know about Cosette.”

Cosette’s jaw dropped. “What are you saying?”

“Did you ever tell him where you came from? That your mother left you at our inn all those years ago?” Eponine said. The words were spilling from her lips, and she didn’t know how to check them. “Does Monsieur Marius know that you do not have a father---“

“He is right here!” Cosette shot back, getting to her feet. Her blue eyes, which were normally so warm and docile, were now narrowed and indignant, like those of a child with a painful scab suddenly newly opened.

“What kind of things are you saying?” Marius asked Eponine in horror.

Eponine did not hear him, but she kept her gaze fixed on her rival. “He’s not your father, Cosette! He’s merely a man who took you away, and gave my parents some money!” she jeered. “What kind of a Madame Baronne will you make? Your mother was a harlot, that’s why she had to leave you. She couldn’t keep you---“

“That is enough, Eponine!” Cosette hissed. “You don’t know what you’re saying---“

“She is right though; I told you so myself this morning in front of Marius and his grandfather. You’re an orphan now, but you are still the daughter of someone else, another Fauchelevent,” the man known as Cosette’s father said. His expression was grave but serene as he regarded Eponine. “Yes, I did come to the inn to take Cosette away, but I was only paying what her mother rightfully owed your parents. Her mother could not keep her since there was a matter unsettled between her and Cosette’s real father. They were the last of their entire family; Cosette is the only one left.”

Eponine looked at the old man, unsure what to make of this story. “Her mother was good for nothing. That is what my Maman said,” she replied.

“Her mother tried her best. When you have children of your own, you may understand,” Citizen Fauchelevent said firmly.

It was only now that Eponine dared to look at Marius and Cosette. Marius was shocked, while Cosette was shaking her head. “I am sorry, my darling,” Cosette said at last, looking at Marius. “But yes, Eponine is right, I did live with her family for a while, till I was eight years old....”

“Cosette---“ Marius trailed off as he stepped towards her.  

“Oh I wish I could forget it all!” Cosette cried. Her eyes were glimmering with tears. “I thought I’d never have to speak of it again!”

Marius was aghast. “I never thought....&rdquo

Cosette wheeled around to face him. “Marius, I swear to you, I may have lived with the Thenardiers, for what reason I do not think I ever shall know. But I am definitely Euphrasie Fauchelevent,” she said, reaching out to him.

“You are, you are!” Marius said, taking her hand and kissing it. He took a deep breath. “Your father is a good man to have rescued you from that family, to bring you here....”

Eponine’s hands balled up into fists; despite the fact that this sent another fierce bolt of pain through her left arm, she didn’t care. “And this doesn’t make a difference to you?” she shouted.

Marius’ face was stern as he met Eponine’s eye. “Her father has explained it all. You’ve lied to me at least once, Eponine, and I do not know what to make of anything you say,” he said.

“Marius, _please_ , she doesn’t know---“ Cosette beseeched.

“I will not have her saying horrible things about you. Ever,” Marius insisted.

‘ _He’s blind, he’s lost to you forever,’_ Eponine realized as she stepped backwards. “I did try to tell you. I’m so sorry,” she said before bolting from the room. She slammed the door of the house behind her, not caring who saw or heard. ‘ _He does not love you, never will, you stupid girl!’_ she berated herself as she continued to run. There was no way she would ever return to the Rue de L’Homme Arme, and yet she could no longer bring herself to face the shadows growing longer in the streets. She would never survive there either, not with her maimed hand. ‘ _You shouldn’t even have lived after that barricade,’_ she realized. She vaguely heard carriages passing, people yelling at her as she bumped into them, and once even a dog barking, but she stopped her ears. Her eyes felt hot and prickly long before she reached the riverside, just near what was known as the Isle Saint Louis.

It was a busy place; people passed up and down the Seine in boats, and the streets were full of carts, stalls and other necessities of commerce. Eponine saw none of this in the gathering darkness; the one thing she knew was that the water was there, where it had always been waiting for her. She ran, heedless of the people she shoved past, or any exclamations of shock as she reached the water’s edge.

The dark cold river was welcoming, at the first instance. Yet that was only for a second; the moment Eponine looked up and saw the glimmers of light fading above her head, on the water’s surface, panic seized her and she began to struggle. However her dress and her shoes weighed her down, and she was inexplicably dragged towards the bottom. She kicked upwards in a last ditch effort, just as a hand grabbed her by her collar and yanked her to the surface. She coughed and gasped for breath as she allowed herself to be towed quite roughly to the riverbank.

For a few moments, all she could do was lie on her side, hacking up whatever water had gotten into her throat. She could hear someone beside her, also coughing up some portion of the Seine. She shook her sodden hair out of her face and found herself looking right at a young man also trying to get his golden hair out of his eyes. Despite his soaked state, his identity was unmistakeable. “Citizen Enjolras?” she croaked.

Enjolras nodded as he began to wring out his sodden shirtsleeves. He had discarded his coat as well as a thick portfolio on the riverbank just before jumping in.  “What did you think you were doing?” he asked, his voice firm and yet impassive.

Eponine opened her mouth but was unable to muster any explanation.  Something about this question, or maybe just the way Enjolras had inquired had left her feeling nothing but shame at her momentary folly. She shivered even as she curled up, burying her forehead on her knees to hide her face. “He doesn’t love me. He is going to marry her now, and that leaves me with nothing.”

Enjolras shook his head. “That is no reason to jump into the Seine.”

She took a ragged breath, knowing she could not look him in the face. “You don’t understand....you’ve never done what I’ve done. I tried to be a lady, tried to think I’d be worth looking at. I’m not pretty, never had the money like Cosette now has. I only wanted one thing, and no, it could never happen.”

“To pin your life on what one person thinks is quite foolish,” Enjolras pointed out. He sighed as he handed his coat to her to keep her warm. “Citizenness, you have much more now to live for, more than you think you know.”

She sat up straight, nearly letting the coat fall to the ground. “What do you mean?”

“Your brother and your sister,” he said. His expression was not harsh, but somewhere between wry and quizzical; perhaps he had never pulled back anyone from this sort of attempt before.

Eponine laughed hollowly at the thought of Gavroche and Azelma. “They don’t need me. Gavroche has always done fine for himself on the streets. Zelma used to need me, but I s’pose Montparnasse takes good care of her now.”

“It can be different, Citizenness,” Enjolras said. He gathered up the documents he’d set aside. “If you will not live for them, then at least for yourself. For your own good.”

“My own good?”

“Yes, and whatever other good you may do.”

The thought was even more absurd to Eponine than that of looking out for her younger siblings. Yet somehow, she knew that it was the only thing she could ever hang on to. ‘ _Since everyone has taken everything else,’_ she thought as she pulled Enjolras’ coat around her before getting to her feet and following the young man to the more well-lit boulevard


	9. Chapter 9: Semblance of Respectability

_A/N: Introducing a minor character here, Claudine Andreas. Everyone else in this chapter isn't mine_

**Chapter 9: Semblance of Respectability**

For the first time in a number of years, Enjolras found he was at a complete loss as to handling his latest predicaments. “ _How can one write about rights such that they will not be overstepped by some future tyrant?”_ he asked himself as he set aside for a moment his drafts of some provisions in what was intended to be the Republic’s Bill of Rights. He rubbed his eyes to banish the last cobwebs of sleep that still clung to him, despite his having been awake for more than an hour. After shaking away a cramp growing in his right hand, he quietly crossed the room to check on his unexpected houseguest.

He sighed as he picked up a blanket that Eponine had kicked aside in her sleep. “ _I have to find a situation for her; she can’t borrow my bed forever,’_ he thought as he glanced at the sleeping girl. It had actually been easier than he thought to deal with her; she had been at least accepting of his offer of a nightshirt to wear in lieu of her soaked attire, at least till some clothes could be borrowed for her. She hadn’t even asked for a meal, but had fallen asleep right away, unfortunately right on Enjolras’ bed. Despite this rather hasty turn of events, he had gathered that something had happened at the Rue des Filles du Calvaire that had Eponine insisting that she would never return to the Rue de L’Homme Arme. Despite his abbreviated inquiry, Enjolras could already guess that Eponine, Marius, and Citizenness Fauchelevent would have different versions of the events.

As he walked back to his desk, he heard two brisk raps at the door. “Come in, Combeferre,” he greeted. His friend lived a floor above him, and so he was accustomed to these unannounced visits.

The young doctor tossed his coat on a chair and took a seat. His brown hair was tousled and his face was haggard. “Had a good evening?” he asked by way of greeting.

“Not very,” Enjolras said, indicating his desk, his still-occupied bed, and the sheets he’d used for a makeshift pallet on the floor. “How was your shift at the Necker?”

“One mortality; another child with consumption. There was nothing I could do,” Combeferre answered. His bushy eyebrows shot upwards as he took a look at Enjolras’ bed. “What is she doing here?”

Enjolras sighed and rubbed his temples. “I was coming back from meeting with Charles Jeanne and his colleagues when I came upon her.” He shook his head at the memory of his being startled, transfixed even at the sight of this waif running headlong to the river. He had seen desperation before, at the barricade; the memory of one of Marius’ deceased friends, a man named Mabeuf came to mind. There had been a grim look in that man’s eyes as he’d bravely replaced the flag on the barricade before being gunned down. That same resolve had been all over Eponine’s face at the riverbank.  
  
"And then?" Combeferre asked.   
  
“She was about to drown herself.”

Combeferre’s eyes widened with surprise. “Why?”

“Some drama, again with Pontmercy and his lady,” Enjolras replied. “Why she continues to pine after him, when the matter is so clear to her, is beyond me.”

Combeferre snorted. “It is for the same reason that Joly goes to extreme lengths to placate Musichetta when they’ve had a falling out.”

Enjolras had to keep a straight face on recalling their friend’s on and off troubles with an intelligent though capricious mistress. “What they have is a mutual affection. On the other hand, I would not even dare to say that Pontmercy feels any pity for Citoyenne Thenardier. From what I know, she deceived him once, with the intention to drive him away from Citoyenne Fauchelevent.”

“I think that was made clear the moment we found Citoyenne Fauchelevent’s letter on her person, back at the barricade,” Combeferre said.  
  
Enjolras shook his head at the memory. He’d been there when a rather senseless Eponine was carried into the wineshop. The letter had not been concealed very well; it had fallen right out of her blouse the moment she had been set down on a pallet. No one save Marius knew what was really written in the missive, but the young man's shock and indignation told most of the story. “This infatuation could easily kill her,” he pointed out.

Combeferre shrugged. “I wonder if it may not be him that she is enamoured with, but what possibility he stands for.” He drew his friend further away from the bedside so as not to disturb the sleeping girl. “At any rate, Claudine is coming in a moment; I will ask if she can help us here.”

Enjolras nodded. “At least we can trust Citoyenne Andreas to be more than discreet,” he concurred.

Combeferre grinned. “And that is partly why Claudine and I have been happy together.”

“I’m sorry that this has to be done; I know that you and Citoyenne Andreas must have made this appointment long in advance.”

“It’s no trouble; I have other opportunities,” Combeferre said. He paused at the sound of a step in the hall. “Excuse me for a moment, Enjolras, but I think that might be her at the concierge’s lodge.”

After his friend left, Enjolras made quick work of straightening up his room, if only not to have it appear so disorderly. Combeferre was used to the chaos, but Combeferre’s mistress was apt to fuss over any of his friends who resided in such conditions. He quickly put Eponine’s still damp clothes in a corner, along with his now muddy coat. He’d have to find time later in the day to get all of these garments washed. He had just begun to arrange his books and papers when he heard a rustling sound from his bed. “Good morning, Citoyenne,” he said, glancing over his shoulder just long enough to acknowledge her

Eponine groaned as she sat up in bed and pulled her hair out of her eyes. “What am I doing here?”

“You fell asleep right away,” Enjolras said, still keeping his gaze averted. Had he chanced to look at her properly, he would have seen that Eponine’s expression was one of sheer bewilderment as she took in the sight of his simply furnished, but well kept lodgings.

The girl gathered the blanket around her as she stepped out of bed. “This place, it’s all yours?”

He nodded. “My parents see to the rent.” It wasn’t a fact he was particularly proud of, especially given the events  of the past few weeks. “ _Many more people do with so much less,’_ he reminded himself.  
  
She bit her lip as she glanced out the window, at the now brighter street. "You shouldn't have saved me," she whispered.  
  
"It would have been wrong to leave you there," Enjolras said, hiding his consternation well.  
  
She shrugged. Citoyen, do you think he'll hate me forever?"  
  
"That isn't for me to judge."  
  
"You're his friend, wouldn't you know?"  
  
Enjolras gave her a wry look. "More like acquaintances, Citoyenne. Even if he was a friend of mine, I wouldn't dare to read into it too much either." Before he could say anything more to Eponine, the apartment door opened to admit Combeferre and his lady friend.

“Ah Enjolras! It’s good to see you---and not up to your ears in pamphlets for once!” Claudine Andreas greeted merrily. She was a tall woman with a dimple in her right cheek, which lent a certain youthful character to her otherwise serious and almost plain face that seemed suited to a bookshop girl instead of that of a daughter of a fabric merchant. The events of the past few weeks had not stopped her habit of wearing her chestnut hair in ringlets or her fondness for rather sleek and almost mannish pelisses. Had Enjolras not known any better, he would have thought that the lady had altered one of Combeferre’s coats.

As it was, he smiled and made a cordial bow. “To what do we owe this early visit, Citoyenne Andreas?” he asked.

“Francois here needs company at breakfast,” Claudine said lightly as she slipped an arm around Combeferre’s shoulders. Her dark eyes found Eponine, who was doing her best to retreat in a corner, and she gave the girl a friendly smile. “You must be Citoyenne Thenardier.”

Eponine swallowed hard as she adjusted her blanket such that it fell like a shawl around her bony shoulders. “It’s really just Eponine. How do you know about me?” she asked warily.

Claudine gestured to Combeferre. “He told me that you were at the barricade, that you haven’t had a home since then---“

“Even before then!” Eponine interrupted. She stood up straighter, in the manner of one trying to hang on to a last scrap of dignity. “I don’t know how you can help me.”

“Perhaps, but I can try,” Claudine said. “Why don’t we have some breakfast, and let’s start by getting you some new things to wear.”

Eponine’s lips curved upwards in a slight smile. “I could do with that.”

“I like your name; it’s something classical, isn’t it?” Claudine chatted on cheerily. “I can’t remember what story your name is from---“

“One of my mother’s romance novels, I think,” Eponine said with a shrug.

Enjolras nodded to the two women. “There is bread, cheese, and some fruit in the kitchen downstairs,” he said. “And if the stove is ready, there may also be some coffee.”

Claudine and Combeferre exchanged looks. “When was the last time you made a decent breakfast for yourself, Enjolras?” Claudine asked.

“June four, I think,” Enjolras said. Lately he’d taken to simply grabbing bread and a drink of water before heading out for a full day of meetings and appointments. “No, you do _not_ need to fuss so---“

“You have to eat too; you’ll be no use to the Republic if you fall ill,” Combeferre chided gently. “And no, do not say you’re busy; we all are, but we must keep our strength up.”

Enjolras knew better than to protest this line of reasoning, and thus he found himself sharing his morning repast with his three guests. He and Combeferre took charge of fetching the food and making coffee while Claudine and Eponine visited the concierge to borrow some clothes. In short order the four young people were dining in the kitchen 

“So you intend to search for a situation _and_ lodgings today?” he asked the two young women as he cut a small bit of cheese and put it on a thin slice of baguette

“Yes. How difficult can it be, Enjolras?” Claudine said, daintily setting down her cup of coffee. She touched Eponine’s shoulder. “You haven’t been eating?”

Eponine looked up from picking at a slice of bread. “I’m not very hungry,” she said. She fiddled with the neckline of the rather large dress she’d borrowed. In this rather matronly attire, her still thin frame looked rather lost and worse than awkward. She swung her legs before sitting up straight. “When you say a situation, you mean I should work?”

“Well, yes of course,” Enjolras said, picking up his cup of coffee again.

Eponine hung her head. “I cannot be respectable.”

“And why not?”

“You’re mocking me!” She nearly dashed her piece of bread to the floor. “A girl like me, making a straight life away from Pantin, do you think it is possible?”

“As I told you yesterday, things can be different,” Enjolras said. ‘ _How can one reason with a mind so obstinate?’_ he wondered. “With going respectable, you will not have to live on the streets again,” he pointed out calmly.

“It will not make M’sieur Marius, I mean, Citoyen Pontmercy, look at me,” Eponine retorted.

“There is so much more to gain than just that,” Combeferre chimed in.

Eponine rolled her eyes. “Even if I want it, I don’t know how to do much; you wouldn’t like what I had to do to bring in a few sous---and what can I do with this hand of mine?”

Combeferre sighed as he caught sight of Eponine’s still maimed hand. The skin on her palm was still reddish and shiny, the beginning of a potentially grisly scar. It was evident that what motions she could make with that hand were now limited. “Have you tried to make a fist with it?”

The girl brought her fingers together, only to grimace with pain before she could clench her hand. “Now what am I to do?” she asked with frustration.

“Now, now, there’s something that can still be done....shop work perhaps....” Claudine said thoughtfully. “I am sure a girl as smart as you knows something---to read at least?”

A wry smile spread over Eponine’s face. “Yes. I can do that. I’m good at it. It’s a good thing my right hand wasn’t shot, or I’d never be able to write either.”

“What else?” Combeferre asked.

“I’ve tried to cook and I did sew a little bit. I learned all of that back when my parents had an inn; you wouldn’t know it, it was all the way in Montfermeil. I used to patch dresses for myself, my sister and my mother,” Eponine said. She held up her maimed hand as if to count off on her fingers. “Papa taught me a bit about numbers. I didn’t do so badly. I sing sometimes---but you won't ever see me on stage. And I used to bring about letters for people. I think I could still do that. But I’m no lady, not the sort who could do pretty things like dance, play music and be all like Citoyenne Fauchelevent.”

Claudine gave Combeferre a questioning look while Enjolras merely sighed at this comparison. “Eponine, if you can read and write, and have a good eye, I think you can mind a shop front,” Claudine finally said. She nodded to the young men.  “Would you know any places, among your friends?”

Enjolras swallowed the bread he’d just bitten into. “Some in the Latin Quarter,” he said. Some names were coming to mind, but he was only certain as to their republican sympathies and participation in government affairs; would any of them employ an unskilled girl who’d been taken in for theft? Still, it was worth a try. He brought out his pocketbook and a pencil, and jotted down a few names and addresses. “You can inquire at these places.”

Combeferre peered at the list before passing it to Claudine. “Ravigard’s shop first. He sells good books and runs a printing press, if you remember; he always needs an extra hand or two.”

“A hand is all I can give,” Eponine muttered. “And where can I stay?”

“We’ll find some place, it’s the Latin Quarter after all. If not, well I live at Picpus, it’s not entirely far off and I do know some houses with spare rooms,” Claudine said. “As for your hand, well Francois can help you do something about it, and there’s that other friend of his, Joly.”

“Where will we get dresses?” Eponine asked.

Enjolras smirked, knowing that it was his cue to leave. “Well I think I am _now_ completely in the way of this conversation. I’ll see you all later,” he said, heading to the kitchen door.

“Will you be at the Hotel De Ville?” Combeferre asked.

“This afternoon. I’m stopping by the Place Saint-Michel first.”

“Ah. One of my colleagues is celebrating later, he has invited you along too. We’ll be at the Rue d’Enfer, at about seven in the evening.”  

Enjolras nodded. “Well I shall try to put in an appearance, but I cannot promise anything.” He drained the last of his coffee. “Maybe we’ll meet later.” As he went up to his room to finish preparing for the day, he made a mental note to also ask a few of his friends about possible situations. With any luck, he hoped that before he was expected at the party, he would have some solution in mind


	10. Chapter 10: A Foot In a New World

**Chapter 10: A Foot In a New World**

For a reason that she could not quite put her finger on, Eponine still felt shabby while walking with Claudine in the Latin Quarter. It was more than just the woman’s smart dress, or her confident manners, whether it was when greeting an acquaintance or reasoning with a shopkeeper. ‘ _I could have been like her,’_ she thought as she and Claudine paused before crossing a street. After all she _was_ an innkeeper’s daughter, and that did confer some degree of respectability in her eyes.

“So you work?” she asked, by way of starting a conversation.

“Yes. I help out my father in his shop,” Claudine replied candidly. “He’s had a sort of shaking palsy lately, and though we have someone helping us out nowadays, there are some things he trusts only me to handle, such as the account books.”

“Oh,” Eponine murmured, raising the hem of her dress to keep it from falling into the mud. She had seen her father with his own grubby tallies of costs and charges back in Montfermeil, but she was sure they were quite crude compared to whatever work Claudine had to do. “Isn’t it difficult?”

“Not really. It can be tiring, but I have been able to do it quickly enough, with practice.”

Eponine nodded, trying for a moment to envision herself behind a desk, but she found the image far too jarring. She tugged at her sleeve. “How did you meet Citoyen Combeferre?”

Claudine took a deep breath. “He was there when my younger brother fell from a carriage.”  Her hands gripped her skirt. “Francois was walking and saw the whole thing. He had my brother brought to the Necker. He helped the doctors who tried to save him, but well, they tried.” She swiped at her eyes and frowned at the stains on her glove. “Francois was so kind; we were friends for a long time after since he liked my father’s library and I liked _his_ library. That’s how it begun.”

Eponine raised an eyebrow, finding this tale much too tragic for her own taste. “Are you two ever going to marry?”

“Maybe, but not for some time,” the older woman said, but her tone was one of contentment as opposed to the impatience that Eponine had been expecting. She looked around and smiled. “Well wouldn’t you look at that, the bakeries are giving out free bread.”

The young girl turned and saw a queue of people outside a large stall. Even from this distance the fragrance of freshly baked bread filled the air. Eponine was thankful that she’d had a little to eat back at Enjolras’ apartment, otherwise the sound of her stomach rumbling would have embarrassed her. “Can they really do that?” she asked.

“Do what?”

“Give away so much bread!”

“The Republic pays for it, gives the bakers enough reason to do it,” Claudine explained.

“Hah! They used to chase people like me away,” Eponine said sardonically. “If I lined up....”

“You’d get a loaf for your household,” Claudine finished. She bit her lip, as if she was unsure what to say next. “How did you come to know Citoyens Enjolras and Combeferre?” she asked in a whisper.

“I was at the barricade,” Eponine said simply. It was all she was willing to speak of at this time. What was this new world anyway, the one that she had heard Enjolras speak of? Was it a world where bread was so easy to come by? Where did that leave people like gamins? She shook her head, remembering Gavroche. Where was he anyway?

ldquo;The one who is really more of a friend to them is my brother. He lives with someone else, Citoyen Bahorel now, I think. Do you know him too?” she whispered.

Claudine nodded. “Oh him? I’ve met him a few times. A very cheerful fellow, in a manner of speaking.” She gently took Eponine’s arm and led her to a shop window. “Here, let’s get you some things that are more suited for you. The concierge’s things are far too big and old-looking for a girl your age!”

Despite this sordid truth, Eponine managed to laugh. Her eyes widened as she caught sight of the shop’s interior: it was a clean and busy place, filled with swatches of exquisite fabrics and yards of lace. ‘ _Not even Maman had anything so fine!’_ she thought.

Claudine walked up to the counter. “Chetta! Musichetta! Where are you?”

A rustling came from a backroom. “Ah, Claudine!” a melodious voice greeted as a fair, slightly buxom woman made her appearance. Her fingers were scarred and pricked from sewing, but her deep eyes were merry. She kissed Claudine on both cheeks. “Who’s your new friend?” she asked cheerily.

“Eponine Thenardier,” Claudine said, motioning for her companion to come forward. “Eponine, meet Musichetta Laurain. Chetta, meet Eponine.”

Musichetta smiled warmly as she came out from behind the counter. “Of course you’re here to get a dress for yourself, Eponine?” she said. “That shade of purple clashes with the color of your hair.”

‘ _Well what hair I have left,’_ Eponine thought. At least she could feel it occasionally brushing her shoulders. “I don’t have any money,” she said.

“Now don’t you worry, I’ll help you with it,” Claudine said. “It’s not a gift though; you’ll get a job and you’ll eventually pay back for your share, how is that?”

Eponine bit the inside of her cheek, unsure what to make of this idea ‘ _I can’t have anyone’s pity....’_ she thought, but Claudine was offering her anything but that. She balked at the idea of a debt, but then again it wasn’t as if she could go about so badly clad. “Fine then,” she said.

“And how goes it with you lately?” Claudine asked Musichetta.

“With my young men or with my personal affairs?” Musichetta asked.

“The latter. I know of the former.”

The seamstress’ eyes flashed. “Damn that cholera. I’ve been doing two shifts in this shop ever since half the girls fell ill. We’re lucky that two have come back.”

“At least you live with someone who knows something of staving the disease away,” Claudine said.

“Ah you know Patrice; he will make himself ill more easily with worry than with what he is actually studying,” Musichetta said with a long-suffering sigh. She motioned for Eponine to stand on top of a small stool. “I suppose you’d want your skirt to fall to your ankles?” she asked as she began to take measurements for a simple dress.

“Can’t it be longer?” Eponine begged. She’d seen Cosette’s trailing dresses, and she’d envied them greatly. “I shan’t get them muddy.”

“That depends what you do,” Musichetta said. Her eyes widened when she caught sight of Eponine’s twisted hand. “Did you have a bullet go through this?” she asked in shock.

Eponine bit her lip, not wanting to answer this question. “It was a silly thing.”

“My dear, I wouldn’t call being at the barricade something so ‘silly’,” Claudine said.

‘ _Well I was there to die,’_ Eponine thought but she shook her head to clear away these words. “I was wounded early, so I don’t remember all that much.”

“The more interesting part comes after the barricades, if you ask me,” Musichetta said. “We get to see how these ideals do sound outside of the cafe.” She smiled as she straightened up and went to fetch some swatches of fabric. “Here, you can take your pick. The blue cloth is very nice, but I think the green would set your hair off much better.”

Eponine sighed as she glanced at the fabric, and then at a small mirror nearby. ‘ _I can never be pretty, can I?’_ she wondered. There was no way that anything she had on would make her match up to Cosette, but it wasn’t as if there was anything more for her to lose 


	11. Chapter 11: All Cards Laid on the Table

**Chapter 11: All Cards Laid on the Table**

The only purpose Enjolras had for going to the Musain was to find some quiet space to finish the articles he’d been working on. Even though it was already mid-morning, only a handful of patrons, and mostly silent ones at that, occupied the cafe’s front room. ‘ _We’ve gone beyond simply talking here about dreams and visions,’_ he mused as he waited for the ink to dry on his work

Louison passed by with a tray of clean glasses. “Citizen Lesgle was here last night with some friends. Left their deck of cards here,” she remarked as she set down the tray

Enjolras rolled his eyes; it was just like his friend to do that. “He’ll be back for them soon enough.”

“The cat almost got to the cards, Citizen,” Louison complained, her voice losing its usual stutter for a moment. “Well then if the deck gets ruined, I’ll just have to tell you gentlemen that I told you so.”

The young man simply had to hide his amused smile behind what was left of a cup of coffee, even as he already imagined Bossuet’s bemoaning of the fate of his amusement. “If Citizen Joly or Citizenness Laurain come in here, you can give the cards to them as well,” he informed the waitress.

Louison raised an eyebrow. “They still live together? When will that situation ever change and make Musichetta a decent woman?”

This time Enjolras did not dignify this remark with an answer. ‘ _It’s not my place to comment on it,’_ he thought as he checked on the paper he’d written, and found that the ink was sufficiently dry enough for him to transport his work. He shook his head as he half-listened to Louison’s ramble about the situation of Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta. He had long made it a point to keep out of any entanglements concerning this particular ménage a trois, especially after one particular incident that had Combeferre and Courfeyrac having to go after a despondent Joly in the countryside after the latter had a falling out with Musichetta. He gathered up his things and paid for his drink, and then went for the nearest omnibus bound for the Hotel de Ville.

When he got there, the assembly hall was in an uproar. “Enjolras, have you heard the news yet?” a young colleague of his called. “There’s been a reversal at Metz.”

Enjolras quickly grabbed the newspaper thrust at him. He felt his spirits sink as he surveyed the details of the efforts of the newly _émigré_ nobility to rally the people of Metz and other towns on the eastern front to stage a counterrevolution. “When did this come in, Bamatabois?” he asked.

“An hour ago. There will be a defence meeting in an hour,” Bamatabois said breathlessly. “Talk has it that the effort is backed by Metternich himself. Also, we might have to arm the citizens here and even in the south. There might be spies about.”

“Isn’t that always the case?” Enjolras replied mildly. Though he was not on the government’s defence committee, having been assigned to the constitutional commission, he had some speculation as to the intelligence efforts being exerted to make sure that no untoward elements would stir up counterrevolutionary sentiments or worse, adventures in lawlessness, especially in the further regions of the Midi. ‘ _I wonder what Bohorel would have to say to this,’_ he thought, making a mental note to check in on his friend who had recently managed to acquire an assistantship under the committee itself.

“Some spies have ferreted themselves out. One, that Inspector Javert, was found drowned,” Banatabois said more reflectively.

The name Javert was not unknown to Enjolras. “Drowned?” he asked. Hadn’t Citizen Fauchelevent dispatched him at the barricade? “How so?”

“Coroner’s report,” Bamatabois said. “It was released a week ago, but well, most of us did not notice that.”

“A bit of information that shouldn’t have been missed.”

Bamatabois shook his head. “By the way, Enjolras, did you ever sit the exam?”

It took only a moment for Enjolras to realize what his friend was talking about. “I was supposed to be with the next group of examinees,” he said. Now that he thought about it, the exam had been slated for the 17th of June, and now it was almost July. Classes or anything close to normal had yet to resume at the law school, since many students and a number of instructors were so caught up in the ongoing developments with the government.

Bamatabois gritted his teeth. “You’d better do it soon, or you won’t be able to keep your post with the commission much longer. They want qualified men, not just schoolboys at work.”

For a moment, Enjolras thought of retorting with something along the lines that having a legal license wasn’t necessarily _proof_ of one’s capacities in governance, but he could see with a sobering clarity the point in his friend’s words. Becoming a lawyer would at least help cement his credibility, and show that he knew something of the legal procedures he was seeking to amend. “Thank you for the reminder. I shall look into it,” he said, clapping Bamatabois’ shoulder before they parted ways.

He stopped by the small room that was designated as the constitutional commission’s ‘office’, first to turn in the articles he’d already finished working on. After this, he went to his own ridiculously cramped desk near the door. Over the past few weeks, more of his law books from his apartment had seemingly migrated to this workspace, giving him much less space to write. The fact that a whole new sheaf of letters now graced the tabletop did not improve the situation. Enjolras quickly went through the mail, sorting them into two piles: one for official correspondences, and another for letters that brought news from comrades and friends outside of Paris. These, he would have to read through quickly and perhaps summarize into reports for the benefit of the various committees in the government. There were some personal missives too in the stack, coming from his family and two old friends in Aix. These, he set aside to read later in the day.

Hours had passed before a knock on the door broke his concentration on his work. “Who’s there?” he asked, momentarily rubbing his eyes. The door swung open and he caught sight of the cheeky face of little Navet, a gamin he had encountered on the day of Lamarque’s funeral.

“Message for you, Citizen. A lovely message,” Navet greeted as he bounded in. His hair was still in dire need of a meeting with the barber, or at least of a good wash, but he had on cleaner clothes now.

“From who?” Enjolras asked. He paused when he realized Navet was not alone. Gavroche was with him, and so was a lovely young woman he’d met before. “Good morning Gavroche, Citizenness Fauchelevent,” he greeted politely as he got to his feet.

“Actually Citizen Enjolras, it’s already afternoon,” the girl said, nodding slightly. Her face was serene, but there was a slight nervousness in the way she gripped her handkerchief. “I’ve been looking for Eponine. She hasn’t come back to my home, and she’s not at Marius’ or at Citizen Courfeyrac’s, or anywhere I can think of. Have you seen her?”

“Yes. She was in need of some help last night, so Citizen Combeferre and a friend of his, Citizeness Andreas, assisted her,” Enjolras answered. He was not sure how he could approach this subject, especially since Citizenness Fauchelevent was so unwittingly entwined in it. “I gather you last saw her yesterday afternoon?”

She nodded miserably. “We had something of a falling out. She found out that Marius and I are to be married, and she did not take the news very well.”

‘ _A very serious understatement,’_ Enjolras thought. “Do you wish to see her?” he asked. He was not sure if he should have told of Eponine’s suicide attempt, for fear of upsetting his visitor.

“Yes. I need to make amends,” Citizenness Fauchelevent explained. “We were children together, and I think we could still be friends.”

“Where is your father?” Enjolras asked, realizing that the young woman was rather unaccompanied.

“He’s away on business.”  

Enjolras nodded to Gavroche and Navet, who were munching on some biscuits. “Do you boys know Citizen Ravigard’s bookshop?” he asked them.

Navet shook his head while Gavroche grinned. “You mean the old man with a shiny pate?” the older gamin asked.

“Well I wouldn’t describe him that way, but yes. Down at the Rue Vaugirard, near the Jardin du Luxembourg,” Enjolras clarified. “Could you accompany Citizenness Fauchelevent there?”

Suddenly a step sounded in the hall. “Enjolras, are you there?” Prouvaire called. He blushed on seeing Citizenness Fauchelevent, and he tipped his oversized hat by way of greeting.

“Ah yes,” Enjolras said, motioning for his friend to join them. He’d been expecting Combeferre to catch up, but he would welcome any visit at this point. “How is everything with you?”

“Better,” Prouvaire said, gesturing to his ribs. “As for my verse, well Dumas and I have had some artistic debate, so that remains to be resolved. I’m going to Ravigard’s in a moment, and I was told you might need some pamphlets printed?”

“Not me, but the others on the committee,” Enjolras said. After a few inquiries he found the texts in question. “On second thought, I’ll accompany you to Ravigard’s place,” he told Prouvaire and Citizenness Fauchelevent.

Navet tugged at Enjolras’ wrist. “Will we get something to eat?”

“In time,” Enjolras said, only remembering now that he himself hadn’t eaten since breakfast. ‘ _Then again, it isn’t as if you can afford much more than bread and water now,’_ he thought. He’d used up a great deal of his money on armaments and other necessities for the first days of the fighting. Still, despite his foreboding, he found himself smiling as he listened to the conversation near him as he followed his companions. Somehow Prouvaire had engaged Citizenness Fauchelevent into a lively discussion on Racine’s works, while the two young boys cut in now and then with their own irreverent observations on plays that they’d seen. After a while Gavroche and Navet went their own way to find some food, leaving the older ones to proceed to the Rue Vaugirard.

The bookshop of Citizen Ravigard was an establishment that literally always had its door open. In fact at this very moment, the proprietor was chatting with a customer at the doorstep. “Ah, Citizens!” old Ravigard called by way of greeting as they walked up. “It’s been a long time since you’ve sent any business my way.”

“I hope you won’t be disappointed,” Enjolras replied, showing the texts he’d brought and gesturing to the work that Prouvaire had also brought.

Ravigard’s bushy eyebrows wiggled with interest as he perused the materials. “This should keep my new assistant busy,” he remarked. “That’s an eager young lady that your friend Citizeness Andreas recommended to me. I’ll give her a trial for a week or so, and then we shall see from there.”

“A week? That sounds fair enough,” Enjolras agreed. “I hope she doesn’t disappoint.”

Ravigard merely shrugged before going to the shop door just as it opened. “Ah, Citizenness Thenardier. Your friends are here,” he said to the young woman on the stoop.

“I have to speak with them,” Eponine said in a low voice. “It will only be a moment.”

“Don’t take too long,” the shopkeeper warned before entering his workplace.

As soon as the door closed, Eponine crossed her arms and glared at the group.  “What is she doing here?” she asked tersely.  

Citizenness Fauchelevent stepped forward before anyone could say anything. “Papa and I have been worried about you. I wanted to make sure you were safe,” she said, her tone one of unmingled concern.

Eponine laughed harshly. “Safe? Why do you care, Cosette? After what I did to you yesterday? Are you that much of a silly?”

The darker haired girl sighed. “I know there’s nothing we can do to change the past. I love Marius, and Marius loves me. But I wish that there was some way you could be happy.”

Eponine drew herself up to her full height, and for a moment it appeared as if she would spit at her adversary. “Happy for you? That is a funny thing,” she said sardonically.

“Not that. No. I can’t expect you to, and you don’t have to be---“

“You’ve had your pity already. Haven’t you forgotten who you were?” Eponine sneered. “Oh yes, I told you and everyone already, should I say it again here?”

“I think that is enough already, Citizenness,” Enjolras spoke up, looking Eponine in the face. He took a step forward such that he was in a position to get between the two girls in case Eponine tried anything drastic. “Citizenness Fauchelevent has gone through all this effort to see to your care and safety. Even a little gratitude would be in order.”

Eponine glared at him for a moment before shaking her head. “You don’t understand, Citizen. Not at all,” she hissed before going back into the shop, but taking better care not to slam the door behind her.

Prouvaire winced at this. “Sorry about that, Citizenness,” he murmured to Cosette.

“No, it’s my fault. I think I came too soon; if she wanted to be found, she would have told me or sent word earlier even through Marius,” she said, wringing her hands. “I’m sorry that you gentlemen had to see this.”

Enjolras shook his head. “If there is anything we can do to assist you, Citizenness, just say so.”

Cosette smiled weakly before looking past the young men towards a figure walking hurriedly up the street. “Oh Papa! I didn’t know you were back already!” she called, rushing to her father.

Citizen Fauchelevent met the girl halfway. “Good heavens, Cosette! Where have you been all day? Toussaint said you’d gone out!”

“Looking for Eponine. Citizens Enjolras and Prouvaire helped me find her,” Cosette said, nodding to the young men. “She works at the shop there.”

“And where is she staying?” Citizen Fauchelevent asked, looking at Enjolras.

“At my lodgings,” Enjolras replied simply. The fact was still far too awkward for him to say without feeling a frisson of uneasiness. “We’re helping find a more permanent situation for her.”

Citizen Fauchelevent nodded as if he was thinking of something. “My daughter and I will be removing to our more usual lodgings at the Rue Plumet. Unfortunately our apartment at the Rue de L’Homme Arme is a bit too large for one person,” he said. “Still there are other places in the area that might be of use.”

Prouvaire frowned as he tucked his hands behind his back. “It’s a bit far from where we usually move about. It might not be safe for her,” he said.

“What do you mean?” Cosette asked.

“I don’t think she is in contact with some of her other contacts from the streets,” Enjolras chimed in, recalling now the Thenardier siblings’ connection to Patron-Minette.

Prouvaire looked down. “It’s not that, Enjolras. I’ve seen this before, well in stories, but Combeferre and Joly have told me some of what they’ve seen in the wards.”

“Jehan, you don’t mean to say she is actually _mad_?” Enjolras asked in disbelief. He’d seen people in rages during the days prior to Lamarque’s funeral. He even had a neighbour in Aix who was known for having rather frightening fits. None of that quite matched up to Eponine’s behaviour.  “Not in the right frame of mind, even a blind man can see that, but insane? I’m not sure. ”

“She _covered a musket with her hand_. That isn’t something most people do, is it?” Prouvaire asked worriedly.

‘ _That, and she did try to jump in a river,’_ the older student thought. He would have to ask Combeferre or Joly about the best course of action later that evening. “I’ll have to inquire about the room next to mine, or to Combeferre’s,” he said.

Citizen Fauchelevent nodded, even as his expression turned grave. “Be patient with her. I don’t think her condition is that grave; she may be brought around yet. Locking her up will do little good,” he advised the young men. He nodded to Cosette. “Let’s return home now, Cosette. I’ll have Toussaint make something fresh for our supper.”

Cosette glanced at Enjolras and Prouvaire. “Take care of her please. And tell me if there is anything I can possibly do.”

“We’ll send word, don’t worry,” Prouvaire reassured her. As soon as the Fauchelevents were out of sight, he sat down on the shop stoop. “Enjolras, what did we get ourselves into?”

“We can’t just abandon her. She was at our barricade, so that makes her our responsibility in a way,” Enjolras said. “It would be unjust if even while we are making reforms, we just left her to struggle when there is something we _can_ do.”

The poet whistled. “So why her, and not say, Gavroche?”

“Gavroche is well cared for,” Enjolras answered. As if their conversation had summoned the boy, he caught sight of Gavroche walking up, with two smaller children in tow. Enjolras had the feeling he’d seen these little ones before. “Your brothers?” he asked wryly.

“May as well be,” Gavroche replied with a grin. “ _Momes_ , meet Citizens Enjolras and Prouvaire. Citizen, my brothers Citizens Neville and Jacques.”  

Neville, the bigger of the children, squinted up at Enjolras. “You’re the one the papers talk about.”

“Sometimes,” Enjolras replied, crouching so that he was at the child’s eye level. “How long have you two been on the streets?”

“Since winter,” Jacques replied in a small voice. “We thought we lost Citizen Gavroche, after losing our Maman and Mamselle Miss---“

At that moment the shop door banged open again. Eponine emerged, now looking rather pale and abashed. “I’m lucky that Citizen Ravigard wasn’t too harsh on me....” she whispered. She paused when she saw the gamins. “Gavroche, what are you doing here?”

“Taking in letters,” Gavroche replied jauntily. “How goes it with you?”

Eponine waved off his question. “And what are you little Magnons doing here?” she asked the small boys. “You’ve been on the streets all this while?”

“In my elephant actually,” Gavroche corrected her. “It’s quite warm there.”

The girl burst out laughing and shook her head. “Gavroche, have you _any_ idea who they are?”

Neville looked at her. “Why, what should we be?”

“You’re actually my second littlest brother,” Eponine said. “No, you wouldn’t remember, but I know that Maman, my Maman, had two babies and they lived.”

“Maman never said we had sisters,” Jacques countered her.

Enjolras cleared his throat. “Citizenness Thenardier, what is this about?”

She took a deep breath before looking at him. “It’s a bit of a muddle actually, Citizen. My parents arranged with a woman, La Magnon, for her to have my two youngest brothers. She needed the boys for something.”

Enjolras felt as if a pit landed in his stomach as a few horrid possibilities came to mind. Prouvaire had gone rather pale as well. “What sort of things?” he asked cautiously.

“To look out for. She was awfully nice to them. She had to show some old bourgeois that she was taking good care of them. I don’t know what that’s about,” Eponine said. “But she’s in Saint-Lazare now, with Maman and the others.”

Enjolras breathed a sigh of relief. “I will see if the room next to mine is up for rent. You and your brothers can stay there,” he said to Eponine.

“With her? What fun will that be?” Gavroche protested.

“You all can’t fit in Bahorel’s room,” Prouvaire pointed out. “I mean, I go there sometimes and it’s cramped enough as it is....”

Gavroche furrowed his brow as if he was considering this scenario quite deeply. “What about with either of you Citizens?” he asked after a while.

It was all that Enjolras could do to keep a straight face. ‘ _I’m going to lose my bed again tonight.'_


	12. Chapter 12: A Roof Over One's Head

**Chapter 12: A Roof Over One’s Head**

As far as Eponine was concerned, she’d seen far worse lodgings. “You know, it’s at least dry enough to put old things in,” she said as she looked around the dusty and dingy room that happened to be right next to Enjolras’ apartment. Heaps of broken furniture and bundles of old cloth were all over the place, and the air had a musty smell to it. The room hadn’t been used in a matter of months, not since its previous occupant had been frightened away in a raid courtesy of the Prefecture. Eponine wondered if she’d find some odds and ends like unwashed clothing or books in the piles of debris.

“It’s not yet usable for you and your brothers,” Enjolras pronounced from where he stood in the doorway. He hardly seemed to notice that some dust had fallen on his clothes. “We’ll have to clean it out very thoroughly first, and furnish it.”

“Oh I know a place where I can find some things---“ Eponine began.

“Not on credit,” Enjolras said. The young man crossed the room and pulled the window open; the shutters grated for a moment before a fresh and cold draught of the night air swept into the room. “In the meantime, I’ll move into Combeferre’s place.”

“You don’t have to---“ she protested, feeling suddenly mortified at the idea of this young man going through yet another series of inconveniences. ‘ _Especially since Monsieur Marius would never, ever do such a thing for you,’_ the thought occurred to her, but she brushed it aside as she followed Enjolras back to his apartment. “I’ll manage someplace else, you don’t have to do this.”

“Citizenness, you know that your brothers need care. It wouldn’t be just to separate the four of you,” Enjolras pointed out as he gathered up some clothes and books. “And you’re not going back to the streets either.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“It wouldn’t be right to fight for fellow citizens, and at the same time literally ignore my neighbour when I am in a position to help,”

_‘He’s speaking like he’s giving a sermon,’_ she thought, but the idea was absurd; she’d heard that many young revolutionary-minded young men like Enjolras no longer went to church.  Did revolution also include odd notions such as this? Still, the idea of having a warm bed, coupled with the possibility of making a different living was difficult to argue with. What would a young man ask in return for this uncommon courtesy? “The least I could do for you is....” she began coyly as she took a step towards him, using one hand to raise the hem of her skirt just noticeably.

His eyes narrowed at her as he stepped back. “No. You will _not_ do such a thing.”

“People will think I’m your mistress if I stay here, so what would make the difference?” she asked, putting a hand on her hip.

“You’re a guest,” Enjolras replied simply as he made his way to the door. “I’ll be with Combeferre and at a gathering. Make yourself at home, but please don’t touch those folders there,” he added, indicating a pile of papers to one corner of his desk.

“What business would I have with those?” Eponine said with a scowl as she followed him out of the apartment and upstairs to Combeferre’s room. She bit back a laugh on seeing the cramped and rather disorderly state of the other man’s lodgings. If Enjolras’ room was relatively bare, with his books, clothes and other personal effects neatly tucked away in his closet or on his desk, Combeferre’s apartment was a maze of tomes and other curiosities.  He had a bookshelf that was close to collapsing, and his desk was piled high with even more documents.

Gavroche, Neville, and Jacques were sitting on Combeferre’s bed while Combeferre and Claudine were avidly discussing something. “He had to give the _momes_ a dose,” Gavroche announced to Eponine and Enjolras by way of greeting.

“A dose, whatever for?” Eponine asked, noticing that the two younger boys were frowning and wiping their mouths, as if trying to get rid of some horrid aftertaste.

“Deworming,”  Combeferre explained. “Jacques has a bad case of them, so I gave him a little medication, and some to Neville as well for good measure.”

“It tastes worse than that old _brioche_ from days ago!” Neville complained. “He’s being horrible!” he added, pointing to Combeferre.

“But necessary,” Enjolras pointed out as he set down his belongings. “You wouldn’t want to get ill, would you?”

Jacques spluttered. “I’m the sick one, not him,” he said in a small voice. “I saw---“

Eponine shook her head, not wanting to hear what disgusting thing her youngest brother was likely to say. It reminded her far too much of her own illnesses in the Gorbeau tenement. “Have you had anything at all to eat?” she asked, by way of changing the subject.

“Not yet, but there’s supper downstairs courtesy of Citizenness Andreas. I could smell it, it’s no old hash from an old woman’s stocking,” Gavroche replied more happily.

“Gavroche!” Eponine reprimanded.

Claudine merely laughed. “It’s a simple stew, but it will do the little ones some good.” She picked up her wrap and shook out some creases in it. “Well I should be going....”

“Wait, we’ll go with you---it’s a bit of a detour, but not much trouble,” Combeferre said gallantly as he took her arm. “Enjolras, you ready to go? You don’t have to stay long at the party.”

“Only to be polite,” the younger man answered seriously as he put on his hat. “The door is unlocked, just go down to the room whenever you please,” he informed the Thenardier siblings.

Jacques looked at Enjolras. “Will you be back soon?”

“I don’t know. Why do you ask?” Enjolras asked more amusedly.

“Need someone big to come look for us. M’sieur Gavroche can’t chase away all the big shadows,” Jacques said, sticking his fist in his mouth.

“What sort of party is this?” Eponine asked the young men.

“A housewarming,” Combeferre replied tentatively. “A rather rowdy one.”

“You should bring Claudine with you.”

“Not in that company. It would be awkward,” Claudine laughed. “Will you four be fine here?”

“I think so. Thank you for today,” Eponine said more sheepishly. Perhaps, she decided, someday she and Claudine could be better friends. Maybe she’d even like to talk to Musichetta again. It was a nice thought to have, especially when she was alone now with her brothers.

Jacques looked at her intently. “So will the citizen really let us have his room?” he asked.

“Yes. It’s better than the streets,” Eponine replied as she took a seat on the bed. ‘ _I wish Azelma was here,’_ she thought. How long had it been since all of them had been under the same roof? She pulled her knees up to her chest, thinking back on her conversation with Enjolras. It had seemed almost natural to suggest the means of payment that she did; most other men would have taken it, perhaps with some reservations. ‘ _Monsieur Marius would hate you for it, though,’_ she realized with a shudder of self-loathing. No wonder why Marius was in love with Cosette; she was pure and unsullied, and certainly such improper thoughts would never have entered her mind.

Neville swung his legs off the bed. “I want to eat what the nice lady cooked for us,” he said before trotting out of the room. Jacques squeaked and followed him out, leaving the two older Thenardiers to trail after.

Gavroche rubbed his hands. “Good, a meal that won’t require me to shave the barbers. But that sad mask you’ve got?”

“I’m only confused,” Eponine said, waving him off as they went downstairs. Her head was spinning with the events of the day; had it really been just over 24 hours since her attempt at the river? How could she ever settle all the things now visited on her? Claudine had made the matter about the dresses clear enough, and she’d accepted the deal. It was likely that Enjolras would be much of the same mind when it came to the question of the room they would refurbish. ‘ _Of course they won’t ask right away, at least,’_ she reassured herself.

As she sat down at a small table with her siblings, another thought occurred to her: ‘ _How am I to see to them?’_ she wondered. Aside from feeding them, there was the matter of getting something better than rags for them to wear. ‘ _And will I have to send them to school too?’_ she thought, listening only a little to their chatter as she finished most of a bowl of vegetable stew. Her brothers were ravenous though, getting through more than a bowl each. Somehow they managed to wolf it all down while talking of Gavroche’s former quarters---an elephant in the Bastille, or of their days on the Rue Clocheperce, or of roaming the Luxembourg during the height of the fighting at the barricades.

Inevitably, Eponine’s thoughts strayed to Azelma. “Where would she be tonight?” she asked herself after putting the dishes aside. She slipped out the backdoor of the building, hoping to take in something of the evening without necessarily being spotted.  The back of this building opened out onto a narrow alley, leading out to the rest of the Rue Jean-Jacques Rousseau.

She had only been on the stoop for a few moments when she caught sight of a shadow darting into the alley. “Hello?” she called in a low voice, only to hear a low whistle as a reply. She got to her feet, having heard this signal too many times before. “Citizen Babet!” she hissed.

“Monsieur Babet to you, little miss,” the former tooth-drawer replied. The revolution had been good to him; he was less thin now, and had on a new suit of clothes, making him seem almost respectable. It was almost as if he’d been to the tailor and not to the Changer.

Eponine laughed before covering her mouth. “Oh what brings you here? Have you got news of my Papa and my Mama?” she asked in an undertone.

“Yes, yes, but that’s not really my business here,” Babet replied impatiently.

“Well what then? There’s nothing to rob here, it’s pretty much a biscuit,” Eponine said.

“You’re doing it again,” Babet replied accusingly.

“Well I don’t see the others here. So it can’t be robbery. If it’s news you want, I can tell but you tell me something too.”

“That’s exactly what I want to ask you about, girl. Have you seen Claquesous?”

Eponine froze before bursting out laughing. “Come now, M’sieur Babet, I wouldn’t know Claquesous except for that voice of his, and we both know how odd it is. Why, what’s happened?”

Babet crossed his arms. “He’s dead.”

“Dead?” She gripped the wall out of shock. Patron-Minette had seen so many terrible times; what on earth could have struck one of them down? “How?”

“I was hoping you could explain it. You were there when it happened,” the man said accusingly.

She shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

“The barricade!”

“No, he might have been at Saint-Merry,” Eponine said. So many men had perished there, and at other barricades. There were mostly younger men at the Rue de la Chanvrerie, and none of them, even the gruffest workingman, had the look of a ventriloquist.

“He was not at Saint-Merry! Don’t you think I don’t know Jeanne’s men?” Babet growled. “He was at the Rue de la Chanvrerie, his body was pulled from there.”

“Well he might have gone down fighting at the thick of it! Go ask the National Guard who did it!” Eponine shot back impatiently.  

He shook his head. “Claquesous had a bullet to the side of the head. Someone was out to get him. He took nothing in his barrel chest, little miss.”

“Well?”

“Tell me who did it.”

“I don’t know!” She stamped her foot. “There, that’s the news from me. So many things happen, and I got wounded pretty early on. See where the ball went through my hand? It caught me in the side too, and it was the young doctors there who saved me.”

“Yes, yes, well that is all good for you girl. But if I find out who got Claquesous----“ Babet said before making a threatening gesture. “He will get a good pinch.”

Eponine rolled her eyes. “Now your news for me?”

“You told me nothing.”

“You agreed.”

Babet gritted his teeth. “Your mother died in Saint-Lazare. Fever. It was supposed to be quick.”

The girl’s jaw dropped. “No! You lie!” Her mother was the strongest woman she knew. “No, no, she was supposed to be fine, La Magnon and Mamselle Miss were seeing her...”

“They are in the jail too, and it was them who told me,” he muttered. “So that father of yours hasn’t told you anything?”

“I haven’t seen him since that night at the Rue Plumet.” She could feel something hot pricking at her eyes. “But thank you, thank you. Oh it was good of you to tell me. Any news of my sister then? What about Montparnasse?”

“They are well, that is all.” He adjusted his hat. “Best of luck; I heard talk you were going respectable because of that Baron. But he’s gone up with a lady?”

She nodded. “Yes, yes. Well what can I do? Where do you go now?”

“My own business. Good night, Mademoiselle Thenardier,” Babet said before turning up the street and seemingly disappearing into the shadows.

Eponine sat back down, feeling most of her strength leave her. Babet was not trustworthy, but he was no liar. It had to be true. “Oh Maman, why there?” she whimpered, burying her face into her new skirt. How had it happened? Did she think of her and Azelma, or even their father? Did anyone care for her or give her a drink of water before the very end? She shuddered, imagining her mother on the floor of a room even filthier than that of their old hovel, shaking as she cried out in delirium. It had happened once, and frightened Azelma so badly that she’d fled the house for a night. ‘ _Why her and not someone else like my father? Why not me?’_ she raged silently as she tried to muffle her sobs.

A biting cold wind, unusual for the middle of summer, whipped through the alley. Eponine struggled to her feet and rubbed her arms. After all, she had a long day ahead of her, and it wouldn’t do good to be tardy at Ravigard’s place. Just as she was about to go up the stairs, she heard the front door open. “Citizen Enjolras!” she greeted, recognizing instantly the golden haired man who entered.  “How was the party you were at?”

“Lively. I saw a number of old friends,” he replied with a diffident shrug as he headed for the staircase.

“You mustn’t have enjoyed it very much if you’re here but Citizen Combeferre is still there.”

“Unfortunately I have work to finish,” he pointed out. He paused as he did a double take. “Has something happened, Citizenness?”

“Nothing at all.”

“Your eyes are red. Are your brothers well?”

Eponine covered her face, embarrassed at having been found out. “It’s not your concern...” she began before realizing that it was best to have the truth of the matter out. “I just got news. My mother has died, in prison!”

Enjolras was silent for a moment. “My condolences, Citizenness.”

She sighed, thankful that he didn’t ask why her mother was imprisoned to begin with. “I just wish I’d seen her one last time....or something....I don’t know what, but it shouldn’t have happened that way!” She turned away, unwilling to let Enjolras see her crying. “I should go upstairs.”

“Do your brothers know already?”he asked.

“It wouldn’t matter. Maman was the one who put them out, especially Gavroche,” Eponine said. She swiped at her eyes. “Said she had no use for a pack of little ones.” She laughed bitterly at the memory of the day Neville and Jacques had been taken to Magnon. No one had protested then; they were far too hungry for such a thing. “Well now what’s to become of us? No Maman, and Papa not caring very much about how we go. And Azelma! Oh why can’t she be here? You think if the barricades had gone up earlier that my Maman could have gotten out of prison sooner?”

“That is not for anyone to say,” Enjolras replied. “You should at least tell your brothers. Just for the sake of letting them know.”

“Jacques and Neville think that Magnon is their mother. It would confuse them,” Eponine explained. She looked at Enjolras keenly. “Haven’t you got a mother too, Citizen?”

“Yes.”

“Does she know what you’ve been doing?”

“Not everything, I can’t detail each day in a letter.”

Eponine cracked a smile, imagining him at his writing desk. “But she loves you, does she?”

“Yes. In her own way.”  He handed her a pocket handkerchief. “Here. You have to be strong.”

“I don’t think I can be.”

“Who else can?”

Eponine hung her head, hating again the fact that he had to be right. “You come with me. I think they like you very much and well, I don’t know what to say. I barely know them at all anymore. "


	13. Chapter 13: Reaction Formation

**Chapter 13: Reaction Formation**

“To think you came close to not sitting the exam at all! It was just as well that Bamatabois reminded you about it.”

“And it was just as well too that I convinced you to register for it, after all this time.”

Courfeyrac only laughed at Enjolras’ words as they headed further away from the law school and in the general direction of their respective lodgings.  Summer was beginning to fade; it was already September, and the dusk was falling slightly sooner nowadays. “If it wasn’t for being able to be of use to the Republic, I’d accuse you now of dragging me into a prosaic life as a lawyer,” he said as he rubbed his neck, taking care not to destroy the line of his cravat. “When did they say they’d release the results?”

“By the end of the month, if all goes well,” Enjolras replied. ‘ _That is considering the fact that so many of us who took the exam,’_ he mused silently. For whatever reasons, it seemed as if even the law school’s notorious stragglers (with the notable exception of Bahorel) had finally decided to sit the exam alongside the senior students including Enjolras and Courfeyrac. Now that the entire gruelling business of the bar was over and done with, the sense of relief was almost palpable. In fact Enjolras had to admit that it was a burden that he was quite glad to be rid of.

As a carriage rattled down the street, the two young men stepped out of the way. “Say, isn’t that Lafayette’s? I’d know the gilt there anywhere,” Courfeyrac remarked.

“It is,” Enjolras said. As always, people mobbed the carriage, some presenting petitions for the aged general to look at, and others simply angling for a look at him. The street now turned into a sea of hats and outstretched hands, hindering the vehicle’s passage. Enjolras reached for Courfeyrac’s shoulder to signal his friend to start looking for a detour. As they inched their way to the edge of the crowd, he caught sight of what appeared to be an outlandish cape swirling as its bearer pushed his or her way to the carriage.

Courfeyrac saw this and more, since he lost no time in sprinting towards the carriage. “Watch out! There’s a knife!” he shouted to the coachman. The man barely had time to evade the blade headed for his ribs, and to knock away an assailant making his way to the carriage door. Nevertheless the coachman toppled off the vehicle, nearly hitting his head on a paving stone. He had a hand clutched to his side, which was starting to bleed profusely.

Enjolras managed to grab another man who had already cracked a window in the carriage. In return he got a fist straight to his jaw, another fist to his left eye, and a boot to his midsection, but he still managed to push this would-be assassin to the ground and pin him with a knee between his shoulder blades. Other men in the crowd were already subduing the other assailants while a few saw to the injured coachman and the rather astonished Lafayette.

Despite the rising pain from being punched in the eye, Enjolras still managed to look the attacker in the face. The man’s visage was more scar than feature, with stringy dark hair covering a crudely stitched brow, drooping eyes, a crooked nose and cracked lips, all gracing a greasy face with stains of tobacco and grime mingled with stubble. ‘ _I’d hold him down better if I had a cane,’_ Enjolras thought, keeping his grip on his captive. “Who hired you?” he asked.

The frustrated assassin tried to twist out of Enjolras’ grip. “You can’t make me talk, Citizen.” He spat, only to have a gob of spittle streak his face instead of landing on the younger man’s shoes.

“It would be better for you if you did, immediately,” Enjolras replied harshly, indicating the rather belligerent crowd observing this scene. A wrong move, a single shout, or a misinterpreted signal would be enough for the bystanders to fling themselves on these unfortunates. It would be a tide that not even Lafayette could hold back.

The man let out a wheezing sort of laugh. “Go ask my colleague there.” His sneer stretched into a grin as he looked about. “He’s slipped between your fingers!”

“That was Panchaud,” Courfeyrac muttered from where he was helping Lafayette to a chair someone had brought out of a nearby shop. “I’ve seen that prowler about before.”

Enjolras frowned at this bit of news. The name Panchaud was not entirely unknown to him, but he had been expecting to hear less of it given how things were turning out in the streets. He tightened his grip on the man he’d been accosting. “Who are you, and who are your accomplices?”

“Hah, ask at the corner for Brujon. The others will give their names.”

“Here, look what I found,” a workingman growled, reaching into the ragged coat of one of the assassins. He extricated a small bag and shook it, letting everyone hear the coins jangling within. “For what, five francs? Twenty? A hundred?”

Brujon chortled again. “Of course, you’d be more interested in who could pay that much.”

The answer hung heavily in the air before someone, namely Lafayette, spoke up. “ _Emigres.”_

Enjolras took a deep breath as a murmur rippled through the crowd. It reminded him far too much of the moment Marius had taken up that keg of gunpowder back at the barricade. There was no telling what this outraged mob would do; he knew that some elements still harboured a hatred for the bourgeoisie who had ‘usurped’ the July Revolution and were ‘certainly’ threatening that of June. “Get the gendarmes. They will know best how to deal with this,” he said loudly.

“Hah, Citizen, they will just as soon turn them loose,” a woman snapped.“That’s how they’ve lived so long out here.”

“Just ask the _tapissier’s_ daughter. She can tell you how it goes,” Brujon said mockingly. He growled and tried to get free as he saw several policemen come up, but he no longer struggled when the handcuffs were held out. The vile expression did not leave his face as he and his companions were marshalled towards where the street corner and a fiacre.

Enjolras glanced at Courfeyrac and Lafayette. “Not much harm done, I hope?” he asked concernedly.

Lafayette shook his head and breathed more easily as he got to his feet. Courfeyrac on the other hand was inspecting the maimed cuffs and hem of his coat. “My mistress will be upset with this,” the younger man said morosely. “Well, I have no choice but to visit her in this state.”

Enjolras nodded, knowing better than to comment on this situation. “You will have someone to fuss over you,” he said. “Will you need any assistance, Citizen?” he asked Lafayette.

“For my coachman. You have, I understand, a friend at the Necker?” Lafayette said, glancing to where his coachman had been taken into a house to have his wound tended to.

“Yes.” Although he was not sure if Combeferre would still be on duty, there were many sympathetic surgeons and physicians who would gladly head out to assist if Lafayette asked. After seeing that the rest of the situation was under control and having Courfeyrac agree to meet him later, Enjolras took a detour in order to find an omnibus that would bring him to the vicinity of the Necker.

When Enjolras finally got there, he found that Combeferre was still busy assisting at a complicated surgery, but he was able to get another physician to come back with him to the scene of the assault. The entire adventure took the better part of an hour. ‘ _Which means I have some time before I can expect Courfeyrac’s visit,’_ Enjolras surmised as he headed for the Rue Jean Jacques Rousseau.

hen he got there, he saw Feuilly and some other men from an atelier, conversing in grave tones. The fanmaker nodded to Enjolras. “Poison in the water,” he said. “You’ve got quite a shiner around your eye, my friend.”

“An incident,” Enjolras said, shrugging off the reference to his bruised face. “So there’s still that rumor about the water going about?” Part of the stir regarding the cholera breaking out in Paris had been about talk that the police, the bourgeoisie or the government was poisoning the water supplies in the Fauborg Saint-Antoine and other ‘troublesome’ quartiers.

“Not the cholera, Citizen. Something else that don’t show up right,” a spindly hatmaker said. “It’s been giving us a weird sort of walk.”

“Everyone in the atelier gets that,” another friend of his argued.

“But not this fast, and no one getting this loopy. It’s the new stock of felt that’s been given to us for making hats. The dust gets in the water and everywhere else,” the first man retorted.

“And you haven’t told your employer?” Enjolras asked.

“I’ve been telling them that, but it seems as if their boss is a potentate in the making who’d rather not be budged,” Feuilly said exasperatedly. “He said, ‘no law, no move’. That’s the only way he’ll ever improve working conditions.”

‘ _This, among so many matters to see to,’_ Enjolras thought as he sat also on the doorstep. Each day brought another worry, another grave concern on top of the still pressing question of the Constitution. Now that the bar exams were over, he hoped to have more time to see to these issues. “We may have to write it into the charter,” he suggested. “Begin with a provision that will not ignore the general situation of workers, and then from there go to the specifics.”

“Huh, to cover every condition in _and_ out of Paris?” a third workingman asked.

“It is worth a try,” Feuilly said. “If it gets into the Constitution that we workers are entitled to a certain number of benefits, such as wages and a safe place to be, then no matter what situation any worker is in, there will always be that basic safeguard.”

“A blanket to cover everything, Feuilly?” the first hatmaker said. “Wait till the bourgeoisie poke holes in it, you’ll see. No offense to you, Citizen Enjolras, but a lot of them would rather be safe and warm in their places instead of living out here as you do.”

“A lot, yes, but not _all_ ,” Enjolras stressed. It would take a lot to get rid of the inherent distrust between the various classes. ‘ _And it only is worse the further you get from the capital,’_ he realized. Before he could comment more on this, he noticed the Thenardier brothers and Navet running up the street, trailing cake crumbs behind them.  

Feuilly was able to grab little Jacques before he could trip. “Where have you all been?” he asked.

“Down to the bakers. A comrade of ours has good things there,” Navet said with a grin.

“You boys should be in school soon,” Enjolras remarked. He made a mental note to speak with Eponine about this matter.

Gavroche thumbed his nose. “The streets are a school enough. There’s no liberty behind a desk!”

“And there’s no equality in running about like this either, believe me,” Feuilly said, helping Neville dust off his slightly grimy clothes. “You boys look better than when I saw you last.”

ldquo;They look better except when Citizens Combeferre and Joly have to dose them,” Gavroche said, indicating his brothers. He smirked at Enjolras. “You need a poultice for your face, and we want sugar for our physic.”  

“I’m not sure it works so well that way,” Enjolras pointed out. It had been more than worms just plaguing the younger Thenardiers; although they had been better off than most gamins, they still collected a whole array of little suppurations, stomach upsets, and colds. Combeferre and Joly made it a point to examine them several times a week to make sure that they were gaining weight and that their wounds and runny noses were being cared for. These were not always pleasant affairs; Enjolras had witnessed a few tantrums especially from Jacques.

Yet even now, that same fretful child had an angelic expression as he tugged on Enjolras’ coattails. “Will you visit later?” he asked.

“I need to,” Enjolras said. He hadn’t been able to move all his things to Combeferre’s lodgings, so he periodically had to make trips back to his room to retrieve books or clothes, and of course he would come across the young Thenardiers there. Besides he often passed them in the hall, or got called up to assist Combeferre and Joly. There was simply no avoiding this familiar, though not entirely comfortable band of siblings.

“He didn’t dirty your shirts like last week,” Neville said, all too eager to tell on his brother.

“Well that’s good to hear. Come on, let’s get you indoors,” Enjolras said, noticing Navet making his goodbye to Gavroche before hurrying down the street. “Feuilly, come up too when you can be spared. I need to ask you about something.”

"Regarding?”

“Affairs of the sewers.”

Feuily nodded understandingly. “Five minutes.”

Enjolras followed the Thenadier boys up to the second floor, where he then let them into their borrowed room. ‘ _Another month maybe,’_ he thought, casting a glance at the adjacent room where they were set to transfer to. The debris stored there had been cleared out, and what was left to do was to air out the room, give it a good scouring, fix a few leaks, and of course furnish the place. The last task was quite daunting; time and again he had to remind Eponine that she was not to acquire any furniture on credit, since her wages could not possibly support this sort of payment. Naturally this limited the available options.

He found some water in a pitcher and a clean cloth, and set about to trying to relieve the pain in his eye. Just as he dabbed the cold compress on his face, he found that Jacques and Neville were having  problems getting their tightly laced shoes off. “Who did these up?” he asked as he went to help them.

“Ponine did,” Neville sulked.

“She must have been afraid you’d lose your shoes,” Enjolras remarked just as he heard two sets of footsteps in the hall. “Right on time,” he said, scooping up Neville so that Eponine and Feuilly could enter the apartment.

“Oh you’re rather early, Citizen Enjolras,” Eponine greeted as she tossed her shawl onto a chair. She had on a better-fitting dress that was a becoming shade of green, and her hair was neatly tied back with a ribbon. Some luster was coming back in her reddish hair and her eyes had mostly lost their usual glazed look. Still, much of her form and manner was that of a gamine. It was progress, but halting and apt to stumble on a bad day or two.

She looked at Enjolras and her eyes widened with concern. “You’ve been fighting?” she asked, gesturing to his eye.

“Yes, but that’s another story for later,” Enjolras said, evading the hand Eponine had almost rested on his cheek.

Eponine crossed her arms and pouted. “Very well then. How was the exam?” she asked, setting one of Gavroche’s wayward boots to one side before pulling up a chair.

“Manageable,” Enjolras said, motioning for Feuilly to take a seat. “What about you?”

Eponine shrugged. “Much the same only that I hurt my fingers while stitching books. I ought to get a thimble; I think Musichetta has one. But that’s not of interest to you. You and Citizen Courfeyrac will be lawyers soon, no doubt!”

“Did Bahorel take the exam?” Feuilly asked.

“Never even registered for it,” Enjolras replied.

“I knew it. Bossuet was trying to tell him to, but you know him....” Feuilly said, rolling his eyes knowingly. “So what was it you wanted to ask me about?”

Enjolras glanced at the Thenardier brothers, noting that they were suitably occupied with play and perhaps would not interrupt this discussion. “What do you both know of Brujon and Panchaud?”

Eponine stiffened while Feuilly’s eyebrows shot up. “Why do you ask?” the fanmaker replied.

“They and a small band made an attempt on General Lafayette.”

Eponine’s jaw dropped. “To kill him? I know them to be robbers but no, they wouldn’t usually take a _surin_ or anything. The only one who really did that was Montparnasse.”

‘ _Of course,’_ Enjolras thought, remembering his encounter with the dandy, as well as the debacle with Azelma in the alley, so many weeks ago. “Someone paid them very handsomely to do it,” he said. “Brujon mentioned something too, about a _tapissier’s_ daughter?”

Eponine swallowed hard.  “That would be me. Oh Babet told them I was here!”

“You?”

“Don’t you know? A _tapissier_ means an innkeeper. We used to have an inn, in Montfermeil. That was where I met Citizenness Fauchelevent, meaning Cosette. We called her the Lark, then.” She smoothed out her skirt. “And I think they know I’m here since one of them saw me.”

Feuilly’s eyes narrowed. “Saw you, here?”

“Yes. But no worry, I told them this place was a biscuit. Nothing here they would be interested in,” Eponine said.  

“So these men know your father too?” Enjolras asked in an undertone

“They had a hand out for him, when no one else would,” Eponine replied, sitting up straight.

Enjolras noticed Feuilly giving him a warning look, but his curiosity and apprehension won out. “You never quite detailed how you and your sister began working with them.”

The girl looked down at her lap. “It’s a very long story,” she said. She gestured to her brothers with her injured hand. “Not fit for them to hear. Magnon was trying to make them respectable, and they shouldn’t know about the likes of me.”

“Magnon of the Rue Clocheperce,” Feuilly muttered, shaking his head. “Yes, that is a very long story.”

“You know too?” Eponine asked, her eyes narrowing with suspicion.

“We are estranged friends. Also, Citizenness, _anyone_ can see that the boys were never her own.”

It dawned on Enjolras what his friends were referring to. “So she cared for your brothers?” he asked Eponine very cautiously.

She nodded. “They became Magnons, not Thenardiers or Jondrettes....ah, I never said we used that name, did I? It was well and good for them. I wasn’t supposed to know, I think. But people talk.”

Enjolras bit the inside of his cheek, unable to find the right words to comment on this dastardly situation. “But that is their story, and not _yours_ ,” he said at length. “I know that you and Montparnasse were friends. Your sister is presently still with Patron-Minette. You mentioned you spoke to Babet...”

“To keep him away from here!” Eponine retorted. Her shoulders slumped, as if this confession had weighed on her. After a few moments, her gaze drifted to the window and it seemed to Enjolras that in that instant, a fey sort of air had seized not just Eponine, but the room.

Her voice was hollow when she spoke again. “No, they would not have me now. I turned them away from the Rue Plumet, to save Marius...” She trailed off, clearly still upset at the memory. “I began being a look out for them when I was a smaller girl. Couldn’t be more than twelve or so then.” She counted out on her ink-stained and needle pricked fingers. “I just turned seventeen. Five years. Six maybe. That would make it right.”

“Had you been born here, you might have started earlier....” Feuilly said.

“Started what, the looking out, the going about with them, or having to stay with the men?” Eponine asked. She let out a mirthless laugh that might have chilled a man of a less hardy constitution. “There, now you know. I suppose you’ll turn me out now, Citizen Enjolras? You know now what kind of woman you have under your roof.”

Despite the horrors that had been sketchily described, Enjolras still willed himself to look Eponine in the face. How could a girl nine years his junior manage to endure all of that, and for so long? “No. The kind of woman I _know_ is the one who can better herself.”

“You mock me.”

“You wouldn’t have stayed so long if you were otherwise.”

Eponine colored visibly, moments before a knock sounded on the apartment door. “Enjolras? Are you there?” Grantaire’s voice came from outside.

‘ _What has brought that winecask here?’_ Enjolras wondered as he went to receive this other visitor. He’d expected, judging by the volume of Grantaire’s voice, to find a red-faced and inebriated friend. Much to his surprise the newcomer was well-groomed, despite clearly appearing to have walked a long way. “Grantaire, this is unexpected,” he greeted cordially.

“It is, but what I have with me isn’t,” Grantaire replied, holding out some envelopes. “Invitations, for Pontmercy’s wedding to his Citizenness Fauchelevent.”

“When?” Feuily asked, getting up from his seat and joining Enjolras at the doorway.

“Next month.  I won’t have to be Odysseus searching for you all over Paris, since you’re here,” Grantaire said with a grin. He handed the simply embossed invitations to Enjolras and Feuily. “Here is one for Combeferre too. Would you know where to find the Thenardiers?”

“Right here,” Eponine said. She managed a smile as she received the invitation. “Thank you for coming all the way here, Citizen.”

Grantaire gave her a smile and a nod before turning to his friends again. “Something has marred your visage, Apollo,” he said to Enjolras.

“You may as well know, some assassins nearly got to Lafayette,” Enjolras said, stepping out of the apartment and motioning for Feuilly to follow him. He had the sinking feeling he’d be retelling this story for several days.

The drunkard paled but only for a moment. “I never thought you’d end up defending him.”

“1830 was one thing, this is another,” Enjolras said. He dearly wished that Grantaire didn’t have this bent for bringing up sordid histories. Apparently this trait carried over even into his sobriety. “Nowadays---“ he began before a muffled stomping sound came from behind the apartment door.

Grantaire whistled. “A nice mask that girl wore?”

“You could say that,” Enjolras said before striding back into the room, already half-expecting to find Eponine on the verge of injuring herself again. He saw her seated again, the invitation already crumpled in her lap. Her hair was dragging about her shoulders, and she did not bother to push it out of her face as she swiped at her eyes with her hand.

Jacques ran up to Enjolras. “Why is she so sad with the letter?”

“News,” Enjolras said. He waited for a moment before approaching Eponine. “You do not have to attend if you do not wish to,” he told her.

“I need to. I want to see him happy....” Eponine murmured, almost incoherently. She shook her head. “I’m silly. I can’t believe it. Seeing him smiling at the altar and he is _not_ with me. I have to see though, I just have to know...”

“To know what?” Enjolras asked, hoping his exasperation did not surface in his voice. The weeks between this day and the wedding would seem interminable if Eponine would continuously be in this particular frame of mind.

Yet perhaps a hint must have slipped anyway since Eponine sat up straight and wiped her eyes. She finally tucked her hair behind her ears. “You’ve never had a woman. Citizen. You would not understand.”


	14. Chapter 14: Looking On at Bliss

**Chapter 14: Looking On at Bliss**

Although the days were gradually getting shorter and chillier, Eponine found that there were fewer reasons for her to complain in the mornings, more so when she finally acquired the key to her newly furnished lodgings. Yet despite these good turns, nothing could quite mask her melancholy on the 22nd of October. Even the gaiety at 6 Rue des Filles du Calvaire did little for her mood.

“Why do you torture yourself like this?” Musichetta asked her discreetly as they waited in one of the front rooms of the house. In a few minutes, the wedding party would return from the church, and be greeted by an odd crowd consisting of Marius’ friends from the Amis del ABC, some of Cosette’s friends from the convent school, and a few family friends of the Gillenormands. Although the original idea had been for everyone to be invited to witness the actual wedding ceremonies, in the end Marius, Cosette, and their respective relations had conceded to make the proceedings quiet and intimate, and to receive all well-wishers later in the day.

Eponine gripped the windowsill with her good hand. “He has never been so happy _with_ me about. I need to see it for once, you know? Just once...” She shook her head as she surveyed the crowd: her own brothers were in a corner, avidly listening to Bahorel and Feuilly telling outlandish stories.  The other young men were chatting amiably among themselves or with the ladies. Even Enjolras, who was normally reserved, had gotten drawn into a lengthy conversation with one of the Gillenormands’ business contacts.  The room was bright and clean, the enticing aromas of food were in the air, and the merriment was almost palpable. “You all belong here. I don’t,” she whispered, fiddling with the skirt of her green apparel.  

“Now nothing of that, please!” Musichetta chided. “If we’re to play the respectability game, _none_ of us would be here! I’m a grisette who is only here because of Joly, and nearly all the young men here are so-called blood-drinkers as I’ve heard some people say. And I bet the rest of these swell folk have a secret or two.”

‘ _None of you have ever done anything to try to hurt Monsieur Marius or Cosette,’_ the younger girl thought. She rested her forehead on the windowpane, and saw a procession of gaily decked carriages approaching the door. “They’re here!” she said loudly to Musichetta just before Basque came in to announce this same fact to the rest of the gathering.

“Come on, _momes_ , let’s go see the Baron and the Baronne before one of them turns into the drudge,” Gavroche said to his younger brothers.

“Oh behave, Gavroche!” Eponine scolded lightly as they hurried to the front door to join the rest of the guests in greeting the wedding party. Someone had arranged an arch of flowers over the doorway such that a few petals fell on the heads of Citizen Fauchelevent and Marius’ aunt as they entered the house first. The old man had his right arm in a sling, while the spinster’s small smile seemed to be only a concession to the merriment. Nevertheless a heartfelt cheer and applause went up from all the well-wishers as Marius, Cosette, and Marius’ grandfather alighted from the largest carriage. Grantaire made a whistling noise before being discreetly upbraided by Enjolras and Courferyac.

Eponine lowered her eyes as Marius passed near her. Everything about him was blissful, made more magnificent by his newfound elegance. His suit was of the newest cut and his hair was clean with only a few scars under it betraying his misadventure at the barricade. ‘ _Nothing of who he was before,’_ Eponine thought, remembering the grim but handsome boy she’d first seen at the Gorbeau House.

“Ponine?” she heard little Jacques ask. “Is he really a Baron?”

“Yes, a good and proper one,” Eponine said as they followed the well-wishers upstairs, where they would one by one greet the newlyweds and be welcomed by them. She hung back to the rear of the line, waiting for the rest of the family and all of Marius and Cosette’s friends to have their turn. “You go on ahead, they would like to see you,” she said to Gavroche.

“What about you?” Neville piped up. “We’re among the last---“

At that moment, Eponine heard someone call her name. It took a moment for her to realize that the voice had been that of Cosette. ‘ _Now she really does have everything,’_ the waif thought. If Marius was dashing, Cosette was positively radiant. She had on a beautiful white dress with delicate floral embroidery and satin all over the bodice and billowing skirt. Her veil was of fine lace, and she had white flowers in her dark hair. However it was the smile on her face that gave her the air of an angel, and for a moment Eponine felt like turning on her heel and walking out into the street.

Yet it was Cosette who stepped forward, holding out her hand. “I’m happy that you came here today. I know I haven’t said this before, ever, but I have to thank you, or this day would never have been possible,” she said.

“What have I ever done for you?” Eponine asked.

“You were the one who gave Marius my address.”

That errand, long forgotten, brought a wry smile to Eponine’s face. “I promised I would,” she said. She managed something like an awkward curtsy even as her gaze strayed to Marius, who looked on silently. “I wish you and Marius will be happy.”

Marius nodded. “Thank you, Citizenness Thenardier.”

Eponine managed a smile, understanding what was behind this more distant form of address. ‘ _Now that’s done with. No more use for hoping,’_ she thought as she waited for the rest of the guests to proceed to the banquet before she ran down the stairs and out to the stoop. She swiped at her eyes and took several deep breaths in an attempt to compose herself and let her mind get over the finality of what had just transpired. ‘ _You never had a chance anyway,’_ she reminded herself. The night was a little cold, and she wrapped her shawl more tightly around her against the rising wind.

Suddenly she felt a pebble strike her shoe. She cautiously looked up and down for where this might have come from. ‘ _Icacaile!’_ she whispered into the darkness.

“Ah, Ponine!” a familiar voice replied to this argot. A girl with her hair messily pinned up made her appearance. She had on a rather ludicrous red taffeta gown.  

Eponine nearly choked. “Zelma!” she whispered, leaping off the stoop to embrace her sister. “What are you doing here? Why only now?”

“It’s a job. Papa sent me here,” Azelma replied. Her breath smelled as if she had a little drink before coming here. In the faint glow from the streetlamps, anyone could see the ghastly protrusions of her collarbones. “So you were at the wedding?”

“Yes. It’s of Monsieur Marius, our old neighbour,” Eponine replied. “What does Papa want with him?”

“It’s not him, it’s the old one they saw in one of the carriages. The one with something up with his paw.”

It took Eponine a moment to realize who Azelma was referring to. “Citizen Fauchelevent?”

“So that is his name?”Azelma said. “Papa has some business with him, he won’t tell me what.”

“Azelma, no. He...he is a good man. Nothing much to him, really. Don’t tell Papa, I don’t want him to get hurt,” Eponine whispered furtively.

“Get hurt? Why, you think he will be given a pinch?”

Eponine bit her lip; to reveal any more would mean having to tell of the entire affair of the Rue Plumet and possibly even more. “I don’t know. But I have heard you are with Montparnasse and the rest of Patron-Minette. You can tell them that this is a biscuit, there is no use.”

“Are you trying to keep them away from the Baron too?”

“Azelma!”

The younger girl gave Eponine a withering look from head to toe. “Well you’re talking that way since you’ve come into something nice.”

“It’s a little better than before,” Eponine said. “I have a job and a room of my own. You can come and stay with me, and Gavroche, and our brothers!”

“We have other brothers?” Azelma asked.

“Well....it was long ago but Gavroche found them,” Eponine explained. She grasped Azelma’s wrist. “Please say you’ll come and stay.”

Azelma laughed. “Come on, I know what you’ve been about. You and that student, that leader who is now a lawyer. He told me he’s been caring for you. So he has another friend too, who can take me in as a mistress?”

“No, it’s not that way.” Eponine felt her stomach lurch at the insinuation. “He’s a friend. We’re....no, it’s more respectable than that.”

“Well then?” Azelma asked, putting her hands akimbo. “I have Montparnasse. We do fine. We don’t need to live with those fancy talkers.”

The older girl bit her lip, knowing that there was no way she could convince Azelma to come with her. “But you know where to find me. Just promise me that Papa won’t hurt Citizen Fauchelevent.”

Azelma paused for a moment and nodded. “I’ll make sure of it. Go have fun, Eponine.”

“What about you?” Eponine asked but her sister had seemingly melted into the shadows. “Azelma, wait!” she shouted as she stepped off the stoop. Yet the only reply she got was the rattling of a carriage going down the street. She sighed, dusted some dirt off the hem of her dress, and then returned to the celebration. By this time people were taking their places at the banquet table, leaving her at a loss as to where to go next.

As she stood on tiptoe to get her bearings, she noticed a mustached lancer looking her way. She cocked her head, knowing she’d seen him before. “M’sieur Theodule!”

Theodule grinned broadly. “Mademoiselle Thenardier. You remember.”

Eponine smiled, though she felt her cheeks beginning to grow warm. ‘ _Does he really wear his lancer’s uniform everywhere?’_ she wondered as she approached him. “Your cousin is a lucky man,” she said.

Theodule shrugged dismissively. “I should think so. She’s beautiful.”

“Have you ever spoken to her?”

“No, but I think it wouldn’t be bad to,” He turned to look at her again. “Enough of talking about the married. So how have you been?”

“Better.” She bit her tongue, wondering if she ought to detail more of her life, but she feared he’d be bored by the narration. “If no one is sitting next to you, may I?”

“Certainly,” Theodule said, gallantly showing her to a chair.

Eponine glanced around and noticed Enjolras, Combeferre, and Courfeyrac giving her questioning looks. ‘ _I won’t come to harm, I’m sure,’_ she reassured herself, wondering how to get this across to her friends. She locked eyes with Theodule again and managed a smile. ‘ _I see Monsieur Marius happy now, maybe he can see me happy too,’_ she decided as she waited for the meal to begin.


	15. Chapter 15

_A/N: And now trouble really starts._   


**Chapter 15: The Specter of the Bagne**

  
It was a belief essential to Enjolras’ usual practices that one should have more than one pair of eyes when drafting binding documents and ordinances. ‘ _Hence the roundabout of revision after revision,’_ he thought as he made his way to the Rue Des Filles Du Calvaire, clutching yet another portfolio of papers. Just that morning, he’d submitted another set of drafted provisions for the Constitution, and would have to wait a few more days for the rest of the committee to give their inputs or demolish what he’d written entirely. In the meantime there were a number of more trivial papers such as minor disputes that had come to his corner in the Hotel de Ville. Since many of his other colleagues such as Courfeyrac, Bamatabois, and Potier were occupied with either the Constitution or cases of their own, he had little choice left but to consult Marius. ‘ _Bonapartist democrat, yes, but still a lawyer,’_ Enjolras thought as he rounded the corner leading to Number Six.

It was nearly midday now, and Enjolras hoped that his visit would not be judged as ‘too early’ for either Marius or Madame Pontmercy. Much to his surprise, he saw that a crowd was already pressing on the doorway of the grand house. He quickened his pace as he caught sight of police uniforms in the press. As he drew closer, he saw a gray head in the middle of the throng. “Citizen Fauchelevent!” he called.

The old man looked up abruptly, and his forlorn expression shifted into one of dismay and perhaps even pity. “Citizen Enjolras,” he murmured.

“What is the meaning of this?” Enjolras asked, seeing that the gentleman’s hands were cuffed, and that a gendarme had a tight grip on his collar.

“He is a convict who has broken his parole, a dangerous thief who has been on the run,” the leader of the police squad informed Enjolras.

“A thief?” Enjolras repeated in disbelief. “There must be some mistake; I know this man, Citizen Fauchelevent ---“

“Fauchelevent? Ha! He is Jean Valjean. Till recently presumed dead,” the gendarme interrupted, not even making an attempt to hide his disgust. “Now if you will excuse us.”

Enjolras shook his head and stepped between the police and the rude carriage waiting for the prisoner. “Who has ordered his arrest? What proof does the Prefecture have?” he demanded.

“A proof from a citizen who identified him,” the leader said. “Saw him several times and now has solid proof that he is in Paris. Luckily we caught him here, he was just visiting.”

“What sort of proof?”

“They do not need proof.” Although Jean Valjean’s voice was soft, it was clearly heard in that throng. “I’ve been living under a name for a number of years. But it wasn’t for my sake.”

These bewildering words were enough to make Enjolras pause. “I will get to the bottom of this,” he told Jean Valjean resolutely. “A man like you to see prison again....”

“He’s survived the _bagne_ for nineteen years, a spell in La Force will be nothing,” a younger gendarme snickered as the former convict was ushered into the carriage. “Good day to you, Citizen Enjolras.”

At mention of the _bagne_ , the nearly forgotten horror of Toulon, Enjolras was indignant. He hardly waited for Basque to announce his arrival before he walked into the house. He caught a glimpse of Cosette rushing up the stairs, her hair in disarray as she hid her face. Enjolras cringed, having no wish to hear her weeping, and he made his way to the drawing room. In that once merry space, Marius was in an armchair. No other soul was about, no footstep trespassed the quiet. All joy was gone from the younger man’s now pale countenance, and his head was bowed.

“What has happened? The police have just taken your father-in-law away!” Enjolras said firmly as he closed the drawing room door.  
“My father-in-law....” Marius repeated, looking at Enjolras. He seemed dazed, as if shaken to the core by some grievous revelation. “He came here this morning and he himself said who he was. A convict. A pruner from Faverolles. No relation to Cosette, he was just her guardian. I almost cannot believe it, but he said so, he was in the galleys...”

“Did he say for what crime?”

“For stealing a loaf of bread. He made me swear never to tell Cosette. For her sake.”

 “Very well, but yet you sit here and do nothing?”

Marius’ look was one of a man utterly wretched. “There is nothing I can do; he said he had to absent himself from what we had wanted for him, to live with us here. Now even if I could procure his pardon, the law has already reached him.”

“A law that will certainly condemn him to die in prison!” Enjolras seethed. He strode over to Marius and gripped his arm. “Have you no gratitude?”

Marius stared at him. On any other man his expression could have been misconstrued as stupidity, but on the distraught Baron it was one of sheer despair. “What can I do?”

“Have the case reviewed. He has been presumed dead, and it wouldn’t be just to have him thrown back in there for a now meaningless sentence.”

“Reviewed? You and I know the law, it isn’t that simple.”

“Yes, but would you rather resign him to his fate?” Enjolras asked. He saw that Marius was biting his lip; were it not for this gesture, he might have thought that his friend had turned to stone. “If you won’t do it for his sake, then at least do it for your wife!”

“For Cosette? I cannot bring her into this business, never, ever!” Marius shook his head. “He made me promise, he did it all for her.”  
Enjolras let go of Marius’ arm. “You can’t hide this from her forever,” he said.

Marius shook his head. “I must.” Yet as if his words had been heard, the drawing room door was flung open, and in rushed Cosette. She dropped her handkerchief on the floor and lost no time in flinging herself at Marius to bury her tear-streaked face in his chest.

“They’ve taken him! They say Papa is a convict---it can’t be true!” she sobbed.

“Shhhh, Cosette....” Marius said, pulling her close to try to soothe her. “Who told you this?”

“I _saw_ them take him!! I told them to get away,” Cosette wailed. “He didn’t fight, they just took him---“ She wheeled around and saw Enjolras. “You were there, you tried to speak with them.”

Enjolras nodded, although he felt at this moment as if he was intruding on something far too fragile even for him to handle. “I promised that I would get to the bottom of it, Madame,” he said.

Cosette took a shaky breath. “Please, do something,” she beseeched Marius. “You’re a lawyer, and your grandfather has friends---“  
“We’ll see what can be done, don’t worry yourself about it,” Marius said in his wife’s ear. “Hush, don’t you cry now, it will be alright, Cosette---“

‘ _Only if you do something about it,’_ Enjolras thought, only now remembering his original business for being at the house. “I do not wish to cause you distress, Madame, but did they say _who_ told the police?”

“An old gentleman,” Cosette said, wiping her eyes with her hand. “A certain Citizen Thenard.”

“I see,” Enjolras said, knowing that this choice of name had to be deliberate. “I shall have to call on you some other day, Pontmercy; I intended to ask your assistance on another matter,” he said to Marius.

Marius nodded and reached for Cosette’s hand as if to lead her from the room, but the woman took a step away. “Citizen, I know you can help Marius, and help my father. Will you?”

“I will do my best,” Enjolras said. Even now it was clear to him that any effort to save Jean Valjean could not stop at opening the case again; there were far too many other men and women also in need of this further attempt at redemption.

Cosette managed a small smile. “Thank you,” she murmured. Marius said nothing but he only pulled Cosette against him again.

Enjolras then lost no time in taking his leave of the unfortunate pair and heading back outside. Instead of returning to the Hotel de Ville, he headed to the Palais de Justice. It didn’t take him long to make the necessary requisition for the documents from Faverolles; in this day and age all kinds of folios were being brought out from dingy cabinets and secrets were dragged out into the open in the name of both truth and scandal. For good measure, he also asked for records kept in Toulon; he was sure of finding more who shared Valjean’s fate. Only then did he return to the Hotel de Ville.

As he was on his way up to his usual office, he caught sight of a curiously dressed fellow in the corridor. “Ah, Citizen Enjolras,” the man said, sweeping his dark green cape out of the way. “I have a petition that needs your utmost attention.”

“Well, what is it?” Enjolras asked calmly, even as he surveyed the peculiar attire of this stranger. The man before him had a hat with an overly wide brim, hiding much of his face. A pair of dark blue spectacles completed the job of concealing his visage. His suit of clothes was clean but did not fit him particularly well. On the whole, the ensemble brought back a vague memory of Prouvaire’s ridiculous attempt to dress up to watch _Hernani_.

However this stranger had nothing of the shy poet or rowdy bohemian about him. He made another flourishing bow. “I am an old veteran, Citizen, one who has been utterly, despicably ignored by all regimes. I’ve been hanging by my teeth thanks to the Bourbons, and that July affair did nothing for me.”

“And what of it?”

“I wish to claim a pension, for damages to my leg. I fought hard at the barricades, ah yes I did, and nearly lost all the blood in my body for it.”  
Enjolras raised an eyebrow; something about the man’s posture, though stooped, did not quite sit well with this tale. “Your name, Citizen?”  
“Citizen Balizard, former dramatic artist,” the man said. “I am a colleague of Dumas---“

“Who he surely would have mentioned by now,” Enjolras cut in.  “For one thing, there is a department for these sorts of damages. There are lists of volunteers on each barricade, and you hardly need to appeal to me, Citizen.”

“Bah, they only give money, and I know that very well. It’s hardly what I need,” the older man said. “I have a letter here, it explains the matter further, my plan for the claim—“

“Well I cannot help you unless we set the matter straight,” Enjolras replied as he took the note. He paused, as if surveying this stranger again, but inwardly he was recalling what Feuilly had once told him about such claimants.  As he turned the note over in his hands as if to break the seal, he recalled something that Eponine had mentioned about running letters for her parents.

Enjolras looked at the man again.  “You see, I do not recall any Balizard, either among the men I have spoken to, or on the rolls that Lafayette, Jeanne, and the rest have asked everyone else to verify. Now since it is not permissible to issue any monetary assistance or papers to anyone under false pretences, I must know what name you go by.”

“I have no other name,” the supposed veteran retorted. “Ah, you are suspicious, you bourgeoisie, you on that barricade, not knowing that yes, I do shout ‘long live the Republic’ too!”

“Merely careful,” Enjolras replied. It was time to make his gambit. “You were Thenard this morning, Jondrette some months ago, among many other aliases.”

The stranger smirked and took off his hat. “Indeed you are astute, Citizen Enjolras. I know you’ve met my daughter, Eponine.” He straightened up and removed what appeared to be a pair of quills from his nose, and took off his spectacles. What was revealed was a much less curious specimen of a man, with a wizened face, gray hair, and a hooked sort of nose. Yet something in his brow and lips had clearly been handed down to Gavroche, at least.

“Indeed I have. And I’ve met your sons, as well as your other daughter,” Enjolras replied. How many young Thenardiers were around anyway? “You were Thenard this morning, and you told the police about Jean Valjean,” he said bluntly.

Thenardier smiled, but it was the grin of a smug man vindicated. “He stole a child---the Lark, the Baronne, from me. He is a thief, a convict,” he hissed.

“Stole a child?” Enjolras clarified. He had a feeling that he was walking on a precarious edge. “To my knowledge, Madame Pontmercy is an orphan, given to the care of Citizen Fauchelevent---or Citizen Valjean as we ought to call him now.”

“She was given to my keeping first, and she was a child of obviously good family---you do know that Citizen, and that man stole her when I should have had enough to live on for the rest of my days,” Thenardier said, wringing his hands.

“Who told you he was at the Rue des Filles du Calvaire?”

“My daughter.” Thenardier looked Enjolras in the eye. “I know you believe in justice---“

“But not in exploitation,” Enjolras cut in. “No, you will have nothing from me, I refuse to give you assistance unless it is for an honest means of living.”

“You see my gray hairs!” Thenardier protested. “At my age, to make me work!“

“I’ve seen older.”

“Then send my daughter back to me. She is to be my prop in my old age.”

Enjolras felt a chill course through him at this idea. ‘ _And undo everything she’s done for herself and the boys?’_ he thought as he handed back Thenardier’s letter. “You take up the matter with her. It is not for me to decide.”

Thenardier’s face twisted into a sneer. “You are only afraid of losing your mistress. Have you any idea what she is, a whore of the streets, a girl who could easily take your purse---“

“Which is something that, with all frankness Citizen, I am sure you have something to do with,” Enjolras said, narrowing his eyes. He saw Thenardier pause for a moment, which was all he needed to walk past him. “You know where to find your daughter, I’m sure. Good day to you, Citizen.”

Thenardier cursed before retreating down the hallway, pushing past some other people, including Bossuet. “What was that about?” Bossuet asked Enjolras.

“A request I am not heeding,” Enjolras replied before going into his usual workspace. Yet all the same, he made sure that for the rest of the day, he had his chair facing the door. After all, there was always the possibility of another visitation, and one that would perhaps turn out to be less fortuitous. The rest of the afternoon passed much more quietly, giving him more than ample opportunity to finish doing his own review of the Constitutional articles he’d been asked to revise.

It promised to be a quiet evening for him, a very rare commodity nowadays. ‘ _Perhaps I can get a little sleep tonight,’_ he thought as he arrived at his lodgings. When he stepped into the house though, he immediately heard the distinct voices of Courfeyrac and Combeferre talking rather agitatedly on the stairway. “You chose a good place to debate,” he said by way of greeting as he approached them.

Courfeyrac stopped in mid-sentence, while Combeferre sighed and hid his eyes with his palm. “It’s of a rather tricky matter, Enjolras,” the physician said.

“Tricky? That’s an understatement,” Courfeyrac chimed in. The dandy’s normally cheery countenance was drawn, as if he’d been wrestling with some grave matter all day.

“I was only trying to be delicate,” Combeferre said. “Or would you rather that I didn’t mince words?”

Courfeyrac let out a defeated sigh. “I spoke to my mistress. You don’t know her, though.”

“What about?” Enjolras asked.

“She’s with child. She says it’s mine.”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow. He was surprised that this sort of problem had not confronted Courfeyrac ever before. “Do you expect me to congratulate you?”

Courfeyrac and Combeferre gave him withering looks. “Well of course not. It’s just that obviously Courfeyrac has far too much to deal with,” Combeferre said.

“I can handle that. It’s my parents and my siblings who will have something to say about the matter,” Courfeyrac said miserably. “I’ve given them enough trouble for being involved in this revolution, and now to tell them that they will have a grandchild in such a manner...it would at least give me an excuse to drop the ‘de’ from my name for good.”

Enjolras smiled wryly, remembering how Courfeyrac had abhorred the use of the particle, especially when the roll was being called. “What options have you and the lady in question discussed?”

“She wants me to make a respectable woman out of her,” Courfeyrac groaned. “I don’t know if I can, or if I should! A marriage for pragmatic reasons....it’s hardly fair.”

“You can’t just leave her unprovided for,” Enjolras pointed out.

“Exactly. But how?”

“Like I have been telling you, there are options, there are jobs and situations, and there are ways to set up annuities,” Combeferre said calmly. “You need not solve this problem in a day.”

“I have several months,” Courfeyrac said glumly.

“It’s hardly a death sentence,” Enjolras reminded him, though he was of a mind to at least remind Courfeyrac that he _had_ mentioned before the consequences of amorous excesses. ‘ _Though to be fair to him, he’s taking it better than I thought he would,’_ he thought as he searched for his own keys. He made a mental note to pay a visit to his next door neighbours later that evening; there was only one other person at hand who could elucidate what had given old Thenardier the impetus for his sudden alliance with the law. 


	16. Chapter 16: Pride and Inquisition

**Chapter 16: Pride and Inquisition**

As far as Eponine was concerned, the one thing that could off-set the tedium of working in Ravigard’s bookshop was the art of turning the counter into an observation post. “I know people come in for the books and the lovely maps you have here, Citizen, but I think that hearing them talk on is a bit more interesting,” she chattered on with the proprietor. It was past five in the afternoon, and in a few minutes they would be closing for the day.

“It is interesting only if you are into gossip,” Ravigard said, furrowing his brow. “All the intrigues of this and that in the Hotel de Ville....it will burn things down if they aren’t careful.”

“At the Hotel de Ville?” Citizen Enjolras is there all the time but he doesn’t mention anything,” Eponine said as she put a stack of newly stitched pamphlets on a shelf. She wiggled her fingers in an attempt to stave off the aches starting there, only to wince at the dull pain that shot through her palm.

“Why should he?” Ravigard asked disapprovingly. “It’s not entirely fitting for ladies to hear. Reading about politics is good, but it’s one thing. Seeing the bloody business is another.”

Eponine merely shrugged as she finished straightening up the shelf. ‘ _Papa talked politics sometimes too,’_ she thought. She shook her head as images of Montfermeil rose before her; it was a town she knew she was unlikely to return to. “I should like to go somewhere one day,” she blurted out.

“Where to then, Mademoiselle?” a familiar voice said from the shop doorway.

 “Monsieur Theodule!” she greeted. She paused, remembering that Ravigard was still watching, and that this was no casual visit. “How may I help you?” she asked more primly.

Theodule smiled as he cast a cursory glance around the shop. “Have you got any of the latest pamphlets, you know, the ones they’ve been distributing on the streets?”

She gestured to the books she’d just put away. “Which one? I didn’t know you read these things too, M’sieur Theodule.”

“I only want to know what sort of things they’ve been saying,” he in a low voice, his tone clearly anything but one of approval. He briskly perused one of the pamphlets that Eponine had pointed to before setting it back down. “Are you engaged this evening, Mademoiselle?”

“No, but I do have to get home and take care of my brothers,” Eponine replied. Although she had gotten them enrolled in a small school in the neighbourhood of the Necker, they were still her responsibility from sundown to daybreak. _‘If only to keep them from running off to that elephant again,’_ she thought as she fiddled with the edge of her shawl. Even so, she knew what Theodule was really asking, and part of her wished that she could accept this invitation.

Theodule raised an eyebrow. “You have brothers?”

“Oh, you haven’t met them? They were at the wedding banquet,” she said. “You must have seen them about, three little boys?”

Theodule paused, as if trying to remember, before he shook his head. “May I at least see you safely home, Mademoiselle?”

“Go with her,” Ravigard called merrily as he passed by, swinging his keys. “He’s good company for you, Citizeness. Less serious and grave than your neighbours I daresay,” he added in an undertone.

Eponine bit her lip, even though she was sure that the smirk she saw on Theodule’s face must have been due to some color rising in her cheeks. “Thank you,” she managed to say before hurrying out after the lancer and slamming the shop door behind her.

Theodule was watching her bemusedly. “You didn’t mention at the wedding that you have brothers. So you are the eldest?”

“Yes. I have a sister too but she’s not staying with me now,” she replied. “But you? Don’t you have any?” she quickly asked, hoping to change the subject.

 “Not a single one, to my knowledge,” Theodule replied in an amused tone.

She nodded. “And have you been anywhere else, besides Paris? You can tell me about it, M’sieur.”

Theodule’s moustache twitched upwards as he rubbed a smudge off the braiding on his lapel. “A good many places, Mademoiselle,” he said. There was no need for Eponine to pursue any further inquiry, since from here Theodule held on at length, regaling her with tales of travelling with his regiment. He had been everywhere, so it seemed, or at least in the spans from Toulouse to Meaux, to Rouen, and Metz. “It is a lot of work, but it is much merrier than travelling by diligence,” he declared.

“But isn’t it rather slow, to be moving with so many men?” she asked.

“It can be, but we have schedules. It is a rather organized business, more than fighting in the streets,” he replied. He paused and shook his head. “I’m sorry if I offended you, Mademoiselle. I forgot you were at the barricades....”

“I hardly remember any of it, after I fell down,” she said. She paused, realizing now that they were actually a few steps away from her home. “I’ve kept you far too long with me, M’sieur Theodule. You should stay a little bit, for supper.”

“I’m expected back at the barracks---“

“Just for a little while?”

Theodule sighed with the air of an elder appeasing a petulant child. “You wilful, wilful girl,” he said even as he opened the door for her and they entered the house.

Eponine would have said something to this were it not for a peal of childish laughter from the area of the kitchen. “Jacques? Gavroche?” she called, taking off her shawl. She could hear more laughter, this time Gavroche’s, as well as Enjolras’ low voice telling some sort of story. Cautiously, she went to the kitchen doorway and paused to consider the scene that greeted her.

Enjolras was at the kitchen table, with some notes and a dog-eared book next to his elbow. He appeared to have been reading a newspaper, at least before Jacques had gotten into his line of sight by climbing into his lap. Gavroche was sitting nearby while gobbling what appeared to be a glazed bun. “You’ve got only crumbs left for supper!” Gavroche said by way of greeting to Eponine.

“I’m not that late,” she retorted, giving her brother’s ear an affectionate tug as she walked past to put her shawl on a chair.  “Where’s Neville?”  
“Upstairs with Combeferre. He insisted on going through the books there to look for pictures,” Enjolras replied, helping Jacques to the floor before getting to his feet. He gave Theodule a cordial smile. “Citizen Gillenormand, if I’m not mistaken?” he said, extending his hand.

Theodule nodded stiffly. “Citizen Enjolras. You were at my cousin’s wedding.”

“How do you both even remember each other?” Eponine asked curiously as she went to check the contents of a crock that had been set out on the stove, holding what was left of the evening’s repast. She sniffed at the familiar aromas of bread and vegetable stew; Combeferre had suggested some days ago that soup with at least one meal was a way of making sure that every tenant in the house would be fed well despite their limited finances. Each day, a pot of stew was boiled up for general consumption, a practice that Eponine was willing to cooperate with. However with Theodule in the doorway, with his eyes watching her every move, she suddenly felt embarrassed at this arrangement. ‘ _There’s not enough for both of us,’_ she realized as she filled two bowls up with this food.

“So you live with Mademoiselle Thenardier and her brothers?” Theodule asked Enjolras testily as the latter began clearing the kitchen table of his things.

“No. We’re only neighbours,” Enjolras replied casually.

Theodule tapped his feet. “I would think that someone working as a statesman would have more appropriate lodgings than this old house,” he remarked.  He looked over at what Eponine was doing, and shook his head. “I think that if we will have dinner together, Mademoiselle Thenardier, it ought to be under more conducive circumstances. I’d hate to inconvenience you or your fellow tenants.”

“Monsieur Theodule---“ Eponine protested.

“You’ve charmed me thoroughly; I shall make sure to repay you in kind tomorrow,” Theodule replied, reaching for her hand to kiss it. He nearly stepped on Jacques on his way out of the kitchen. The boy yelped in protest and stuck out his tongue at Theodule before ducking behind Eponine’s skirt.

“Don’t be silly, Jacques, it was just an accident,” Eponine chided the boy.

“He’s a gendarme.” Jacques whimpered. “They tried catching me and Neville in the park.”

“He’s not a _cogne,_ he’s a lancer,” Eponine corrected him.  “He’s a friend of mine, so don’t you worry about him. He’ll be nice to you too, you see, he’s a proper gentleman.”

Jacques frowned and shook his head. “I’ll go see Neville,” he declared. He looked up at Enjolras. “Will you tell me another story soon?”  
“Not tonight though,” Enjolras replied, crouching so he was eye level with the children. “Maybe tomorrow, if we have dinner together again.”  
Gavroche grinned at him. “You should tell him about Rousseau or Voltaire,” he said before racing Jacques up the stairs.

“Not just yet,” Enjolras called after the boys. “I was telling them about Lafayette in America, what he did over there in their revolution,” he explained to Eponine.

“Citizen Ravigard has a book in the store about it,” Eponine said, recalling some of the volumes she’d come across that day. Perhaps she would take a look if she had a long enough break in the day. “You could tell my brothers about Napoleon. We were Bonapartists at home you know.”

“I suppose then that the telling ought to come from _you_ then,” he pointed out.

“I’m no story teller,” she insisted. “Monsieur Theodule is really a gentleman, isn’t he?” she added with a smile as she sat down and began to eat.

Enjolras shrugged as he put the books and papers to one side of the table. “It was good of him to walk you back here. Too bad he couldn’t stay.” For a few minutes he did not say anything, but he seemed to be contemplating a very serious matter. “I must tell you. Madame Pontmercy’s father was arrested this morning. His name is not Citizen Fauchelevent, but rather he is Citizen Valjean, a former convict,” he finally said.

“Arrested?” Eponine repeated slowly, wondering for a moment if she had heard Enjolras correctly. Regardless of all the grief she had experienced because of Cosette, Eponine was not one to extend her animosity to the girl’s father, who had been nothing but benevolent. “What for?” she asked as she put down her spoon.

“I was hoping you could help clear up the matter since it was your father who told the police,” Enjolras replied. “He said it was a daughter of his who told him that Citizen Valjean would be at the Marais.”

“It was not me!” Eponine exclaimed. ‘ _Azelma broke her promise!’_ she thought, feeling a bitter fury in her throat as she recalled the conversation she had with her sister the day before.

 “Would you know then how your sister came by that guess regarding Citizen Valjean’s whereabouts?” he asked at length.

“Why do you want to know?”

“I need to get the facts straight if I am to help Citizen Valjean. It’s the least any of us can do for him.”

Eponine took a deep breath to collect herself, but even so she found that she could not look Enjolras in the eye. “She followed the wedding party to Rue des Filles du Calvaire. I saw her outside the house. We talked; I thought she was going to tell Papa that Citizen Fauchelevent was worth the pickings. I was so wrong!” She let out a laugh of dismay, wondering how she could have been so easily duped; she knew that Azelma was never any good at holding her own against their father.  “I should have dragged her in the house. I should have made her stay with me instead of going back...oh now Monsieur Marius and even Cosette will hate me too....” she murmured.

“They won’t. You had no way of knowing what your sister or your father would do,” Enjolras replied firmly. He took a deep breath before speaking again. “I did speak to your father. He tried to hand me a letter. He mentioned that Citizen Valjean actually _took_ Madame Pontmercy from your family’s keeping? What did he mean?”

Eponine sighed. “It was so long ago, Citizen Enjolras. I cannot remember very much of it.” She bit her lip, trying to recall the inn, the rooms, her mother’s voice on the stair and of course the little waif that Cosette had been. “She, meaning Cosette---you know we used to call her _Alouette_ , was left by her mother. I can’t really remember how or why it happened but I know that Cosette had the loveliest dresses that my mother must have sold. We might have played together; I almost thought she was my sister till Maman said that clearly she wasn’t, she was too _ugly_ to be my sister!”

Enjolras’ eyebrows shot upwards. “What a thing for your mother to say.”

“That is the truth, and you’d better believe it, Citizen,” Eponine said, not hiding her smile. “Maman made Cosette a servant, saying she had to earn her keep. Her mother sent us what, ten francs or so a month and there were so many things to pay for then. I don’t know what would have happened, maybe Maman might have put Cosette out in the cold eventually if Citizen what’s his name—“

“Valjean. His name is Valjean.”

“Oh, less elegant than Fauchelevent! Well he came to the inn that Christmas. I think Cosette and I must have been eight years old, you see, and Azelma a little younger, and Gavroche just three. No Neville or Jacques yet.” The memory was still hazy, but Eponine could still picture a man in a yellow coat, how he’d told her mother to let Cosette play instead of knitting all through the night, and how he’d given Cosette a set of black clothes and a doll before bringing her away. “He was so odd, and I think Maman said that he must have been from the prisons. I don’t know really what he was, but I think he was a millionaire, you know. Just giving louis d’ors around, and giving money to my parents too---I saw the note!”

“But if your father was paid, then Citizen Valjean was no thief!” Enjolras pointed out.

Eponine shrugged as she stirred her soup. “I don’t know if he gave enough---that’s still cheating, isn’t it? But that’s why my father and Patron-Minette tried to rob him again, here in Paris.” She decided against bringing up what she’d done with regard to the Rue Plumet; it would only be admitting once again that she’d done it only for Marius’ sake and for no other good reason.

“Cheat or no cheat, that doesn’t justify another attempt at robbery,” Enjolras said, looking her in the eye. “I understand that some wrong, or a perceived wrong has occurred, but there is a great evil in sending Citizen Valjean to prison once again, when he has served his sentence.”

“Once again? Ah, so he _is_ a convict,” Eponine replied. Somehow it amused her to know that her mother’s suspicions had been right. Yet after that mirthful realization had passed, she couldn’t help but wonder at the strangeness of it all. “How could he do it? He made Cosette a grand lady, a beautiful lady. Our parents had a business, a good and proper inn, but look what’s become of me, Azelma, and the boys! In the gutter all of us!”

Enjolras’ smile was wry. “I understand that you feel wronged?”

The choice of words was harsh, but Eponine found she could not disagree. “It should have been me. Not her. Her mother was nothing. She grew up with a con. How could that be so?”

The young man paused, as if carefully selecting his next words. “You could consider that not _all_ fate is tied to our initial circumstances, Citizenness,” he finally remarked. He put his hands on the table, just a few inches away from hers. Eponine swallowed hard; the dim light did nothing to hide the calluses and ink stains now dotting Enjolras’ fingers.

 

 

 

 


	17. Chapter 17: Everything About Fathers

**Chapter 17: Everything About Fathers**

It had been two years since Enjolras had seen the inside of La Force. Then, he'd gone with Combeferre to bail out Bahorel, Bossuet, and Prouvaire following a riot at the Place de Greve. He had been acquainted before with jail cells and their accompanying damp and squalor, but he had still come away indignant after seeing his friends in that setting. ' _At least they are airing out this place a little this time around,'_ he thought, noticing that the suspicious reek of mold was notably absent from the air as he followed the warden down the winding stairway. Even in the morning, this place was cold, and Enjolras fumbled to button up his coat.

"You can see we treat them better now, Citizen. Lafayette's orders," the warden said in a wheezing voice. "But what do you want with the old convict who was brought in yesterday?"

"I have taken a particular interest in his case," Enjolras replied, keeping his grip on a loaf of bread and some fruit as they reached the cell block. "What cell is he in?"

"The second one," the warden said gruffly.

"Thank you," Enjolras said as he made his way to the cell pointed out to him. A few prisoners called to him, asking for various things, while others muttered rude words. He thought he recognized the voice of Panchaud among the latter, but he willed himself to ignore it.

"Citizen, have you brought an amnesty with you today?" a spindly prisoner wheedled. "There's talk about it from the top."

"Unfortunately that is not my business," Enjolras replied as he arrived at the cell. He saw Jean Valjean seated on a stool right under the window. His head was bowed but it was difficult to tell if this was weariness or defeat. "Good morning, Citizen. Are you well?" the young man asked concernedly.

Jean Valjean raised his head. "Ah, Citizen Enjolras. What brings you here?"

"I have to speak with you. About your case." Enjolras swallowed hard at the despondent look that crossed Jean Valjean's face. "I've brought you some food. More importantly, I've sent for records from Faverolles and Toulon, to have your case and some others reviewed."

"I doubt that will be of much use," Jean Valjean said. "I know the law too, Citizen. I am aware exactly what my offense was."

"Citizen Thenardier put you in here for kidnapping. I highly doubt that was what really happened. You're one of the few who can attest to the facts," Enjolras insisted, gripping one of the rusty cell bars. He knew that Thenardier's version of the events was skewed, the Thenardiess was dead, and of course he could not rely on Eponine's memory of the incident. He doubted that Cosette's own recollections would hold much water either.

Jean Valjean sighed deeply. "You are insistent."

"I only believe that you should not suffer because of a long standing grudge, or whatever it was," Enjolras replied. "All I know is that you were a pruner from Faverolles, you were arrested for stealing bread, and you did nineteen years in Toulon."

"That is the simple story of it," Jean Valjean said slowly. He buried his face in his hands momentarily. "It was winter. So long ago, you probably weren't even born yet. My sister had seven children. She was a widow, and there was no help for her. There was no food in the house..."

Enjolras nodded, already guessing where this would lead to. "But why nineteen years?"

"I tried escaping, thrice. I broke my parole too. You know that there is no life with that yellow piece of paper, that passport."

The mention of the passport, that vilified document which condemned a man to a lifetime of stigma and being ostracized, sent another chill through Enjolras. "I see. So where did you go after?"

"I lived in another town for a number of years, beginning from 1815 to about 1823." Jean Valjean's face grew melancholy as he looked at his hands. "It was there that I met Cosette's mother. She was a young woman who'd fallen on hard times. She had to leave Cosette with the Thenardiers to be cared for. She was in debt; she could not afford to pay them. Then she fell ill. She came into my care, and I promised to look after her child. I fetched her from the Thenardiers, calculated what had been owed them, and settled the amount. I had permission in writing."

Although this was a sketchy version of events, Enjolras found no malice in it, nor did he have the sense that he was being deceived. If need be, he would go back and ask for more details to fill in this testimony. "How then did you hide for so long?"

"I took on other names. Also there was a time when Cosette and I lived at a convent in Picpus. We were undisturbed there for years." Jean Valjean took a deep, shuddering breath. "It was all for her. Had I been alone, I might have gone another course, but Cosette-she set me among the living when I could have fallen so easily by the wayside. Now that she is cared for, protected by another, I had to tell the truth. Marius would have had me living with them. I would have liked that very much, but as you can see, a man like me has no business darkening their happiness. I had to set his mind at rest. For instance, the money I left to Cosette; I had to reassure Marius that it was justly earned."

"In the interim you were living in that town, I take that?" Enjolras asked curiously.

"Perhaps, Citizen, you have heard of the business of making imitation black glass? It was the industry of that town where I settled and I invested a bit in it. The returns were what Cosette and I lived on, and the rest rightfully belongs to her," Jean Valjean explained.

' _Something to look into,'_ Enjolras resolved. There would be some work finding out the annals of the jewellery trade but it might help prove that Jean Valjean was capable of great honesty, and that his lapses were necessary for survival. "Citizenness Thenardier told me that her mother had made Madame Pontmercy a servant. Is that true?"

"It is. She was...I cannot describe it." Jean Valjean's face was contorted with emotion. "When I first saw her, she was trying to carry a bucket of water, in the dark on Christmas Eve. She was almost crying, her hands were so red and she was shivering. I could not leave her alone," he added.

Enjolras reached through the bars to clasp the old man's arm in order to steady him. "You saved her life that night," he said. "One last question: why did you let the spy Javert go at the barricade?"

Jean Valjean looked him in the eye. "He was only doing his duty, nothing more."

"A duty that would have been detrimental to the fight..." Enjolras trailed off. Although part of him was rather put out with learning that Jean Valjean had indeed let Javert go, he couldn't help but fall silent before this man's magnanimity. "Yet all you've done for the Pontmercys as well as for Citizenness Thenardier is more than enough reason for any of us to fight for you, in the name of gratitude."

"I'm a man cut off from the living. There are other people to help, Citizen," Jean Valjean said insistently.

"Yes, but I'm not abandoning your cause," Enjolras retorted. There was no telling what way the new laws would bed; try as he may, he was not the only voice to be considered in the redrafting of the Republic's new penal codes. ' _But even so, for his sake I must,'_ he decided before bidding goodbye to Jean Valjean and promising to return the next day.

He lost no time in heading to the Hotel de Ville, where already last revisions were being made to the Constitution's articles in preparation for the plebiscite next month. ' _Which does not mean we will be spared of other matters,'_ Enjolras thought. Apart from the situation of Jean Valjean, there were also the reforms and cases that Feuilly and his friends from the atelier had brought up. However what caught Enjolras' attention this morning was a letter postmarked all the way from Aix. He smiled on seeing these words written in Occitan, a dialect still quite dear to him.

_My dear Antoine,_

_I hope this letter does not find you in a position wherein you cannot compose an immediate reply. Not only are many people counting on news from Paris, but there are also a number of matters occurring here in Aix that I believe you ought to know of._

_Before you ask, your mother and I are very well. The cold will not bother us this winter, so the doctor said on his last visit._

_Now for the news: Two days ago your cousin Henri was accosted by a pack of footpads. He got a number of gashes and a grievous wound for it-God be praised there was a doctor nearby. However he managed to take something off the assailants, a coded message which I have enclosed here for your perusal. The initial investigation from the local police found that the men were working for an émigré based in Spain. I fear that there is a network afoot that you leaders in Paris should be aware about._

_On a more personal note, I do hope you are still taking care of yourself; preparing for the Constitutional plebiscite must surely be taxing you in terms of rest and even food. Please do not be afraid to send for help if you need it. I'm also sure your friends will be more than willing to assist you if necessary; you do still live near Combeferre, I hope? He has always been looking out for you._

_I must also warn you, a number of old friends have been asking if there is any chance you'll be returning to Aix soon. There are a handful of young women eager to meet you. Your mother still hopes you'll settle with a girl from a family she knows, but I know you all too well. Between you and me, you need not be in such a hurry; sending for you in order to meet a girl who is all too easily intimidated by you would be a waste of time._

_Unfortunately some business matters have forced me to make this communication short. Make up for this brevity with words of your own, and soon._

_With love,_

_Your father._

The coded letter was carefully folded and attached with a bit of wax to the main missive. Enjolras' brow furrowed as he examined the slightly muddied paper; the message seemed to be written in French but in a manner more disorderly than that of a schoolchild. He was sure that the misspellings in each paragraph were deliberate, but to what effect, he could not yet discern. He surveyed each line of text vertically and even backwards, hoping to tease out the hidden information there. ' _I've broken ciphers before, but nothing like this,'_ he thought, carefully pocketing the note as he left his usual nook. Perhaps Bahorel, who had recently been dealing with the newly formed Department of Surveillance, could be of assistance in this matter.

Luckily for him he found his friend on another floor, rolling some tobacco while chatting with some visitors from the Midi. "Fancy one?" Bahorel offered by way of greeting.

"No, but thank you anyway," Enjolras said, clapping Bahorel's shoulder. "I've got a message that you might be interested in deciphering."

"Oh?" Bahorel's bushy eyebrows shot upwards. "Where did you get it?"

"A cousin of mine in Aix, forwarded through my father. Apparently there is something brewing there," Enjolras explained as he brought out the cipher. He watched as Bahorel scrutinized it for a few minutes. "What do you think?"

"It will take some time-I'm going to have to pollute my boots by visiting the Surete, this looks like something they might have used before," Bahorel said with a scowl.

"My apologies," Enjolras replied, knowing that despite all this grousing, Bahorel would still help him out. "My thanks though in advance."

"You don't need to thank me; if it is what I fear it is, we are in for some trouble," Bahorel remarked. "Discretion though?"

"Of the utmost," Enjolras said. It was important to keep this matter away from slightly overeager journalists, at least till more details could be ascertained. ' _No use causing panic or unrest,'_ he reminded himself even as he listened to Bahorel and his companions discussing some developments outside of Paris; much talk was going on about the plebiscite especially with regard as to who'd be allowed to participate.

"There's a group of women in Lyon agitating to be allowed to vote," one of the visitors muttered. "It's foolishness, I tell you."

"No man would allow his wife or daughters to see the confusion at the polls," another supplied. "We should make the vote per household."

" _Define_ a household," Bahorel chimed in.

"What do you think, Citizen?" a third man asked Enjolras. "You've been in Paris long enough, so do you think that the women of this city should be allowed to participate?"

"Perhaps the more important question is the capacity to vote-based on if they are in a position to make an informed decision about the plebiscite. A man sequestered in the far reaches of a village would be just as ignorant as a woman shut up in a convent or confined to her house, and may just as well find himself easily misled or at a loss," Enjolras replied.

"Well women's education doesn't make them _fit_ for this," the first visitor muttered. "Devoid and empty of anything besides keeping the house and the social sphere."

Enjolras and Bahorel exchanged a look; both of them had been thinking about Musichetta and Claudine, two women who had taken an interest in political matters. Enjolras couldn't help but wonder too if Madame Pontmercy might be of the same vein. ' _And of course there was Citizenness Thenardier's curiosity about the books,'_ he thought even as the conversation drifted to other topics.

"Some of us are meeting to practice singlesticks later, at about six," Bahorel said after a time to Enjolras. "You ought to join us."

"If nothing urgent comes up," Enjolras replied. "The usual place?"

"Where else?"

' _Old habits still die hard,'_ the younger man thought before taking his leave of the group in order to return to his work. It was late in the afternoon by the time he finished all the paperwork, which included replying to his father's letter. Despite the slight headache and the cramps in his hands, he still decided that it would be worth dropping by to see what his friends were up to. ' _And maybe no more than a bout or two at most,'_ he resolved.

The practice ring was quite busy when he arrived, both with students as well as spectators. It did not take him long to locate where Courfeyrac and Bahorel were fencing while Combeferre, Bossuet, and Grantaire were egging them on. Much to his surprise, he also caught sight of the little Thenardiers on the sidelines. "What brings you three here?" he asked the children.

Gavroche jerked his thumb at Courfeyrac, who was on the verge of being knocked down by Bahorel. "He came for us at school."

"Where's your sister?"

"Out with that man with the mustaches," Neville replied, making a line on his face for emphasis.

' _She could have at least seen them home before going off to dinner,'_ Enjolras thought disapprovingly, remembering Theodule's promise to Eponine as his reparation for his refusal to join them at dinner the day before. While he did understand that Eponine had every right to be with whoever she pleased, the idea that it was Theodule Gillenormand was not particularly comforting. ' _A lancer who is bent on being contrary, the exact opposite of his cousin, and seems terribly unconcerned. No, she is setting herself up for trouble when she ought to focus on making a living and caring for her siblings,'_ he mused.

In the meantime Courfeyrac had finally gained the upper ground and sent Bahorel sprawling. "A good effort there; I feel that I will still be aching from trying to dodge you," the victor said as he helped his friend up.

Bahorel scowled before ruffling Courfeyrac's hair. "If it had been just fists, you would not be smiling so easily, Courfeyrac."

The dandy laughed before slinging an arm around Bahorel's shoulder. "I still have the speed, my friend. It's how I've survived this long."

"And likewise evaded near misses with the ladies, I suppose," Bossuet chimed in.

Courfeyrac's smile fell momentarily. "Most of the time," he muttered. He nodded to Enjolras and Combeferre before hurrying over to them. "Citizenness Vigny is positively adamant I do the right thing and marry her. I cannot dissuade her by convincing her that I will give an annuity."

' _So that is the name of his mistress,'_ Enjolras realized. "Is that the only reason you cannot, or is sentiment also involved?" he asked seriously as he clasped Courfeyrac's arm.

"I care for her well enough...but I fear that it isn't enough for that sort of chain marriage is," Courfeyrac said. "She may very well find that being married to a feckless lawyer is hardly what she thinks it is. She thinks that I can so easily acknowledge the child without many consequences. I'd never leave a child of mine abandoned or not provided for-you can make me eat my hat if I do that. But marriage is another matter entirely."

"Are you waiting for her to change her mind?" Combeferre asked.

"I worry that the skies may turn some ridiculous color first, or that men will actually learn to fly," Courfeyrac groaned.

Enjolras rubbed Courfeyrac's shoulder by way of commiseration, even as he noticed Grantaire walking up to them. "Are you up for a bout, Enjolras?" he asked. "Single sticks, not fencing."

"Are you sober enough?"

"I haven't met with the Green Fairy yet."

Enjolras looked Grantaire over carefully; the last thing he wanted to do was injure the drunkard. ' _Then again it's just sparring,'_ he thought even as he took off his coat and then picked a baton out of the training room's selection. He took his position at the edge of the practice ring, opposite from Grantaire. The room was still noisy with the sparring of other pairs, but in that moment he was focused on taking stock of Grantaire's stance, anticipating his friend's first move.

Grantaire's first strike was wide and broad, designed more to close the distance than to actually score a hit. Enjolras effectively dodged this before parrying Grantaire's next blow. He swung towards Grantaire's midsection, only to find his strike effectively blocked. He stepped back, swinging his baton around his head in a sort of loop before landing a blow on Grantaire's shoulder. The drunkard gritted his teeth even as he managed to parry away Enjolras' baton as it came close to his feet, before immediately managing a strike that caught his opponent's elbow.

"That makes us even," Grantaire said with a grin as he stepped back.

"Doesn't end it though," Enjolras retorted before immediately making a strike that caught Grantaire's baton high above his head. From here on it was frenetic sparring, filling the air with the sharp cracks of baton on baton as the combatants tried to wear each other down. Suddenly Grantaire made a careless lunge, leaving an opening for Enjolras to bring his baton up against Grantaire's chin.

Grantaire grinned as their friends cheered. "The match is yours, Apollo."

"Very well met though," Enjolras said approvingly. He could feel his limbs burning, mostly as a result of having limited practice over the past few months. "Who have you been sparring with?"

"A number of the younger ones. You've been the biggest challenge yet-I would not have lasted if you'd used _la rose couverte_ ," Grantaire said, miming the sweeping move with his hand.

"A bit too sweeping for practice," Enjolras commented.

"I saw you use that at the barricade," Gavroche called to him. He picked up a baton and swung it a little clumsily, but managed to complete most of the loop that Grantaire had demonstrated. He would have accidentally put his eye out if not for Courfeyrac quickly grabbing the baton and putting it away.

"There's a new place that serves good chicken, down across the Isle Saint Louis," Grantaire said to the entire group. "Shall we make an expedition there?"

"Are we going to come along?" Jacques asked Enjolras.

Enjolras paused, wondering if it was such a wise idea to bring the Thenardier children to what could easily turn to a raucous gathering. "Just for dinner, that's all. None of what happens after," he said.

"You're playing at being a dandy!" Gavroche said to his brother.

"Am not!"

"Come on boys, no fighting now. It's far too early in the evening for that," Bahorel said, not minding the withering look this earned him from Combeferre.

Despite the group's relatively high spirits, they succeeded in getting through dinner with almost no incident, apart from one jibe about a mistress that had Bahorel threatening to bash a hapless stevedore's head in. It was nearly nine in the evening when Enjolras, Combeferre, Gavroche, Neville, and Jacques finally returned to their lodgings.

From outside, Enjolras could see that the windows of the Thenardiers' room were still darkened. "Do you have a key of your own, Gavroche?" he asked the eldest boy.

Gavroche fished a key out of his pocket. "Got it from Ponine when she wasn't looking."

"Smart one," Enjolras said as they went upstairs. After seeing the Thenardier boys safely to their quarters, he immediately set himself to reviewing some of his law books in order to find any possible way to secure Jean Valjean's freedom, short of asking for a general amnesty. Even though his eyes ached, he still willed himself to continue with his research. Time was of the essence; each day in La Force put at risk not only the accused man's morale but also his health.

In the middle of the night, he heard the rain begin to fall hard, accompanied by thunder and lightning. ' _How is Eponine going to make her way home?'_ he wondered, even as he listened for a familiar step on the stair. At length he heard what sounded like muffled voices and giggling on the ground floor, followed by a door slamming and footsteps in the hall.

"Oh? The door is unlocked?" Eponine's surprised voice said from outside.

"They unlocked it themselves," Enjolras said as he went to the door of his room. "Gavroche took your keys this morning." He had to keep a straight face; Eponine was soaked from head to toe, with her auburn hair dragging about her shoulders. She was shivering, but her cheeks were not flushed from cold. Enjolras was not sure he wanted to ask as to the particulars of this fact.

Eponine felt about her skirt and sighed. "I cannot believe it. He's getting too clever." She paused and cocked her head. "You do not seem happy to see me."

"You did not fetch your brothers from their classes," he said bluntly.

Eponine's cheeks flushed. "M'sieur Theodule said they would make their own way home, Gavroche was big enough to manage it."

"It's still not safe for them," Enjolras argued. "I don't think it was a good idea for you to let them just run off like that. If Courfeyrac hadn't come for them, who knows what could have happened?"

Eponine glared at him. "They can take care of themselves just fine."

"You're their sister, and you have to look out for them," Enjolras pointed out tersely.

The girl shook her head. "It shouldn't have been me," she said. "And I can't say 'no' to M'sieur Theodule. Not after he's been so nice to me."

"What do you mean?"

She let out a deep sigh. "I know you do not like M'sieur Theodule, and to be honest he doesn't like you too. But he's M'sieur Marius' cousin and he's a friend of mine. I know you could be nice to him."

"Civil. Do not expect me to agree with him though," Enjolras said.

"Of course you do not have to go that far," Eponine replied. She looked down for a moment before meeting his gaze. "Thank you for taking care of them, Enjolras. Good night," she said quickly before going into her room and shutting the door.

' _She's just being a silly girl,'_ Enjolras reasoned with himself before going into his room to continue his reading. Perhaps morning would bring some clarity regarding this matter.


	18. Chapter 18: Ladies and Respectability

**Chapter 18: Ladies and Respectability**

"I promise I'll come for you this time. I won't be late."

Of course Eponine had not expected her brothers to react cheerily at her words, but she still felt her spirits sink on seeing their sullen faces as they readied for the day. ' _What could I ever do to make it up to them?'_ she wondered as she picked up their coats and hats off the floor and passed them to each boy.

Gavroche merely shrugged as he scuffed his boots. "We had a swell time all the same yesterday."

"The chicken was good last night. We should go there again," Neville said as he jauntily flung a bright green scarf around his neck.

"Tonight?" Jacques asked, tilting his cap slightly.

"No. You're eating dinner here, I'll make sure of that," Eponine replied adamantly. "I don't have the money now to pay for dinner out." She frowned, realizing how strict that suddenly sounded. ' _If only Theodule wouldn't mind having them along too,'_ she thought as she picked up a clean shawl and arranged it over her dark blue dress, and picked out a pair of clean brown gloves. If she had a looking glass, she might have fussed a little longer over her appearance but as it was, she had to content herself with wiping her face with an old handkerchief, and with making few hasty brushstrokes through her tangled hair before making her way downstairs to see to their breakfast.

The smell of slightly burnt coffee assailed her nose even before she stepped into the kitchen. She swallowed hard, already half expecting to catch sight of a blond figure just sitting down to breakfast. ' _Why him?'_ she thought, remembering now their conversation from the night before. However when she entered, the kitchen was quite empty. The only signs that anyone had been there were a cut loaf of bread on the table, as well as a small empty coffee cup and a plate set off to one side.

"I must have missed them," she said aloud. Despite the awkwardness that refused to leave her, she dearly wished to explain herself to Enjolras, or if not, ask Combeferre for a little bit of advice. The matter had been simple, at least so it seemed at this hour. Theodule had turned up again at the bookshop, right at closing. He had insisted on bringing her out to dinner. She'd accepted, but that had been before she realized that their destination was quite out of the way from where her brothers went to school. By the time she'd realized her error, they were already seated at a table. They'd stayed talking, or to be more exact she'd listened while he'd let on, up until he had decided it was time to return to his barracks. He had at least walked her home, in the rain. Just remembering all of this was enough to make Eponine run a finger over her lips, recalling the rather ticklish feel of Theodule's mustache against her skin. ' _He is at least something of a gentleman,'_ she couldn't help thinking moments before her brothers scampered into the kitchen.

There was no time though to dwell on these matters when she got to Ravigard's bookshop. Almost as soon as she got in the door, she was greeted by the harried and sweaty face of her employer. "There you are, Eponine! There's this order of books that needs to be bound right away," he said hurriedly.

Eponine barely had time to glance at the titles of the pamphlets piled high on the counter. " _Declaration of the Rights of Woman and the Female Citizen,"_ she read aloud. The name of the author was unknown to her; it was clear that it had not come from one of the prominent names of the provisional government. "What is this?" she asked.

"An old tract," Ravigard said dismissively. "It came all the way from a grand dame in Toulouse; she _insisted_ on having it reprinted. She said it's ten times worth what I will spend in terms of ink and paper."

The girl couldn't help but grin at this seemingly mercenary statement, even as she fetched the thick needles and thread for stitching books together. Inasmuch as she hated going about without gloves, which she'd taken to wearing in order to cover up her mangled left hand, she left her hands bare for this task. She found an old thimble on her workbench and fit it as well as she could over her right thumb before beginning to sew through the first of many pamphlets. It was painstaking work to make a perfectly straight line of stitches through the spine of each volume, making sure to catch all of the pages at the center. A few times she pricked her fingers, and she stuck them immediately in her mouth to avoid trickling blood over the pages. Despite the need to remain focused on her task, she couldn't help but listen occasionally to Ravigard as he entertained some of the customers who came into the shop. A good many of the customers were students, but she saw a number of workingmen and even some young ladies in the queues. A few asked for the newly arrived pamphlets, thus forcing Eponine to stitch them up more quickly than she would have liked.

By noontime Eponine's head ached and she felt as if her fingers could not grip anything more. "May I take half an hour away from here?" she asked Ravigard.

The elderly man surveyed the pile of pamphlets on Eponine's workbench. "Don't go too far; I may need you back here soon enough," he said.

"Just to the corner, Citizen," Eponine said cheerily before donning her gloves and then running out the shop door. There was a small bakery that sold a particularly sweet sort of loaf that she'd taken a liking to over the past few weeks. She had decided it was the one treat she could allow herself, if she could not get dresses that often. Within the quarter of an hour she was back at the bookshop, but since Ravigard was off getting his own meal, she decided to wander among the shelves and see what else the store stocked besides reprinted political pamphlets.

It did not take her long to locate the book she'd mentioned some days before, the volume detailing some of Lafayette's exploits in America. She thumbed through the book for a few minutes, but found the long accounts rather tedious for her taste, despite how colourfully they were constructed. ' _Perhaps other stories?'_ she thought as she replaced the book. There were other political tracts and law tomes sitting next to this book; she had seen some of these titles in Enjolras' and Combeferre's rooms. She surveyed another shelf, which boasted of a few collections of old fairy tales, and even a trove of ancient romances. She couldn't help but laugh at these, remembering her mother's novels back at the inn. She continued to browse through the selection, picking out various collections of poetry, stories, and even compiled histories of France and neighbouring countries until she settled on a book titled ' _A Discourse on Inequality'_ by Rousseau. It tickled her to find a book written by someone whose name was on the street where she lived.

Just before she could get past the first few pages, she heard the shop door open again. "Good day. Is Mademoiselle Thenardier around now?" she heard a familiar voice call.

"Here I am!" Eponine greeted as she made her appearance at the shop counter. "Shouldn't you be at the barracks, M'sieur Theodule?"

"Much of my work isn't at the barracks," Theodule corrected. He glanced down at the book Eponine still had in hand. "Rousseau?"

"Yes. You know I live on the street named for him," Eponine replied. "Have you read his work?"

"Never had occasion to," Theodule scoffed. "It's another political tract. You shouldn't worry your pretty head about such things."

"And why not?"

"It's far too much trouble than women can handle," Theodule explained, putting his hand on Eponine's as if to slide it away from the book she still had. "When many women are at work or at home most of the time, there's no need for them to cultivate political opinions."

"But what are they to say if the men talk politics all the time in their hearing?" she pressed on.

"My dear, this is why we have drawing rooms so that this sort of talk can remain separate."

Eponine would have pointed out that in her situation a drawing room was something she could only dream about, had she not noticed Ravigard chatting avidly with Enjolras, Combeferre, and Claudine as they all approached the shop door.

"I have a few tomes documenting old ciphers somewhere around here. Even better than the stone that Bonaparte found in his travels," Ravigard said enthusiastically to Enjolras and Combeferre. He paused at the sight of the two people talking at the counter. "Ah Citizen Gillenormand. How can I help you?" he greeted Theodule.

"I was just dropping by," Theodule replied, letting go of the book as well as Eponine's hand. "I'm sorry if I'm getting in the way."

Ravigard gave him a warning look. "Please, save your amorous talk for someplace besides the workbench," he said.

"We were just conversing!" Eponine hissed. She managed a smile at her other friends. "Good afternoon-afternoon already, isn't it?" she asked, taking care not to glance at either Theodule or Enjolras.

"It is afternoon, past twelve actually," Combeferre said in a matter-of-fact tone.

Ravigard impatiently gestured to some shelves. "Right this way; I hope I have what you need," he said to Enjolras and Combeferre before leading them around to some shelves.

Meanwhile Claudine's dark eyes darted from Theodule, to Eponine, and to the book on the counter. "Which of you is reading Rousseau?" she asked in a low, but excited whisper.

"I just got curious," Eponine said sheepishly, moving to replace the book on the shelf.

" _Too_ curious," Theodule chimed in. "Please, you shouldn't encourage her. It would turn her head, and it wouldn't be good for her to get too engrossed in having opinions."

"Why, when ladies are being encouraged to talk nowadays!" Claudine retorted indignantly. "Eponine, you have heard, I hope, of all that's going on in Lyon and elsewhere in the Midi? There's agitation now, for women to be able to vote in the plebiscite and ratify that new charter!"

Eponine stared at her friend for a long moment while Theodule merely smirked. "To vote? Like what men did in the National Assembly?" Eponine finally asked.

"Why, yes!"

"How? Not even Bonaparte allowed it. I don't think I've ever heard of Robespierre doing it either," Eponine said, trying to recall anything her parents had ever said about the days before Waterloo.

"Well it's a different republic now, and it's high time things changed," Claudine insisted. She slipped a card over to Eponine. "There's a meeting at the Cafe _Bon Vivant_ tomorrow; Musichetta told me about it since some of the girls at her shop are attending."

Theodule shook his head. "Eponine, really, aren't you busy enough?"

"Why, you want me with you tomorrow night?"

"Perhaps."

Claudine rolled her eyes and put her hands akimbo. "Why are you foreclosing the possibility that she may actually be interested?" she snapped.

At that moment Combeferre peered out from around a shelf. "Something the matter, Claudine?"

"This lancer here believes that Eponine shouldn't be reading Rousseau or even have an opinion on it," Claudine said to Combeferre. She wheeled on Theodule again. "Citizen, what would your mother think of you if she heard you?"

"My mother would think I was being gentlemanly," Theodule said stiffly. He brushed off his uniform just as Combeferre, Enjolras and Ravigard emerged, carrying some books. "Surely you don't agree with this nonsense about women at the polls," he said to them.

"It's not nonsense," Combeferre said coolly. "There have been plenty of women left to manage their own affairs and even to take charge of their families. There is no man to represent them, so it would only be just to let these women have a voice especially when there is legislation that will affect them."

"Why, doesn't a man have the necessary insight?" Theodule asked. "You're a doctor, Monsieur Combeferre, and surely you know that women's mental capacities are not fit for this, that their constitutions are too delicate for political participation."

"You forget about Citizenness de Roland," Enjolras pointed out. "She was not the only woman who was more than up to the task of political discourse. The opportunity may as well be provided to women, though the particular and practical aspects of political participation need to be carefully thought out."

The lancer shook his head. "Madame de Roland was an exception."

"Mainly because of the poor education of the great majority of women," Claudine said acidly.

Theodule crossed his arms. "Do all of your friends agree with this?" he asked Enjolras.

"Their opinions vary but no one is violently against it," Enjolras replied, looking up from the book he was leafing through right on the counter. He noticed the pamphlets near his elbow and an amused smile spread over his face. "I see someone has requested Olympe de Gouges' work."

Claudine quickly snatched up one of the pamphlets. "Oh I must get one of these!"

Theodule smirked at her and at Combeferre. "No respectable man would expose his wife, his mother, his daughter or even a lady friend of his to the rabble,"

Combeferre's eyes narrowed even as Enjolras put a hand on his shoulder to hold him back. "Perhaps but that, even theoretically, doesn't preclude their reading what they wish and having opinions?" the lawyer asked candidly.

Theodule snorted. "If I had a wife, I should be surer that I would have a hot meal waiting for me each night—her opinions would not be necessary for that."

Claudine gave the lancer a look of disgust while Combeferre shook his head. "I'd better go on ahead and see Claudine back to her house. I'll see you both later," the doctor said to Enjolras and Eponine before approaching Ravigard to pay for his acquisitions as well as Claudine's.

"Will you go tomorrow?" Claudine asked Eponine. "At least think about it?"

"Maybe," Eponine said as she finished taking off her gloves. "I'll send word."

"Please do," Claudine said before slipping her hand in Combeferre's and following him out of the shop.

Eponine replaced her thimble on her thumb and looked straight at Theodule. "You ought to marry a cook if that is your concern," she said flatly.

Theodule reddened momentarily. "Eponine, I was not being literal. What I meant is that a woman should concern herself with the practical matters of keeping up the house and raising children, while men deal with politics, business-the things they've been trained to do."

"Now men cannot be practical?" Ravigard called sharply. "I too do my own work here!"

"That's livelihood, Monsieur," Theodule said jovially.

"You probably never sweep your own hall, you lout."

Enjolras quickly shut the book he was reading. "I believe we've delayed your business long enough with this debate. My apologies for that," he said as he found his wallet and then handed a five franc note to Ravigard. "Many thanks, Citizen; I think I shall find this useful."

"Secret codes? What for?" Eponine asked, finally taking notice of the book that Enjolras was purchasing.

"An irregular matter I'm trying to fathom," Enjolras replied. He picked up the book that Theodule had so carelessly set aside. "So you're reading Rousseau?"

"I just went through a few pages," Eponine confessed sheepishly, aware of Theodule's eyes on her. "It's silly of me, I know. But I think you have some of his books too, in your room?"

"Nearly all of his works except for 'Emile'," Enjolras said casually.

"Have you read them all?"

"Yes. It's been some time though," he replied. "If you wish, I'll lend you a copy of this book so you can read it at your leisure."

"You would?" Eponine asked despite Theodule's vehemently shaking his head. In all the weeks that she and her brothers had borrowed his lodgings, she had not dared to touch Enjolras' collection of books, but more out of a lack of inclination as opposed to any fear of actually mishandling them. "But won't you need it for work?" she asked in a lower voice.

"I've read it enough times, and have noted down elsewhere the passages I'm most interested in," Enjolras replied. "Though if you want to someday read "The Social Contract", I'd best get a different copy. Mine is falling apart."

"It's just a diversion, Enjolras."

"You may as well finish what you started, Citizenness Thenardier," Enjolras answered, pushing the book back in her direction. His smile would have been conspiratorial, had it not been for his rather serious tone. "Good afternoon to all of you," he added before quitting the shop, carrying the rather heavy book under one arm.

Theodule cast a withering glance at the door as it closed behind Enjolras. "Before we were so rudely interrupted, I meant to ask if you would join me again for dinner tonight?" he said to Eponine.

She bit her lip. "A little late. I have to fetch my brothers first."

"Can't they manage themselves?"

"Jacques is only five, and Neville seven. I can't ask Gavroche to manage them _both_ ," Eponine retorted. She had to admit that while Gavroche did a fairly decent job at keeping the younger two out of trouble, there were still far too many dangers that could befall three former gamins.

"Very well then," he conceded. "Half past seven then?"

It took Eponine a while to reckon just how long it might take her to accomplish all her tasks before this time. "Will you meet me at my house, or elsewhere?"

"The Cafe _Bon Vivant._ Let's enjoy that place before that assembly spoils our taste for it," Theodule replied. He reached for Eponine's hand and kissed it. "Till later, Mademoiselle."

Eponine sighed as she watched Theodule leave. "He's so gallant, isn't he?" she asked Ravigard.

"Gallant! What can you expect out of a lancer?" Ravigard huffed. "I'm lucky that I don't risk losing business thanks to his antics today. How did you ever meet?"

"Because of his cousin," Eponine replied. It was the only decent explanation she could give. She went back to her work, all the while trying to quash that lingering feeling of astonishment from what she had just witnessed. It terrified her somewhat to have been in the crossfire of such ideas, and from such personalities. She knew that Theodule was not one used to being crossed, while Enjolras was skilled at dealing with such argumentative scenarios. ' _At least they made sure not to ask what I thought, or I might have said something ridiculous,'_ she thought with relief.

Fortunately, the rest of the afternoon passed much more quietly, with the only disturbances being some customers requesting for de Gouges' book. After closing up at sundown, Eponine immediately made her way to the neighbourhood of the Necker. She found her brothers in the schoolyard, wrestling with some friends. "See, I told you I'd come," she called to them as she ran up to the fence.

Gavroche stuck his tongue out at her. "You came too early! I haven't scrubbed this one properly yet!"

"Scrubbed-oh goodness, Gavroche, must you?" Eponine scolded lightly, seeing that her brother was rubbing dirt in another boy's face. She managed to pull him off his victim, much to the laughter of Jacques and Neville.

Gavroche kicked at her but only half-heartedly. "I'm not a doll, Ponine," he said, wresting himself out of her grip and straightening up. "Just you wait, I'll be taller than you somehow!"

"The better for me to grab you by your ear, so I won't have to bend to do it," Eponine shot back. "Come on, let's get going. I need to make your soup before going to dinner with M'sieur Theodule."

"Why do we have to stay at home while you go anywhere?" Neville complained. "Citizen Enjolras lets us go with him and his friends."

"You can visit Citizen Combeferre and read his books. Or we can always ask for a story," Jacques said. "It could be fun."

Eponine sighed as she listened to her brothers chattering about how they would try to spend their evening while she was out. ' _Azelma and I used to have such fun once, when we still had dolls,'_ she mused as she retied her shawl to keep it from blowing away in the wind. It would be November soon, marking yet another anniversary of her family leaving Montfermeil. She shook her head and swiped at her eyes, hoping the boys wouldn't see; Gavroche had been too young to remember it all, while the other two were born in Paris.

As they approached the house, she caught sight of a figure seated on the stoop. "Eponine!" Azelma greeted raspily as she got slowly to her feet. She was wearing an ill-fitting brown gown, and carried what appeared to be a bundle with her.

For a long moment, Eponine stared at her sister. "Go upstairs," she told her brothers as she handed the keys to them.

"But Ponine-" Jacques protested.

"Please, just listen to me," she said firmly. She waited for the boys' footsteps to fade before she grabbed Azelma by her arm. "Why are you here?" she asked.

"I needed to talk to you!" Azelma hissed, prying her sister's fingers off her arm.

"After you broke your promise? You promised that Papa would leave Cosette's father alone!" Eponine yelled. "Now he's in jail, and now Citizen Enjolras has to try to get him out, and I'm so sure now that the Pontmercys will hate me when they find out whose father sang to the _cognes_!"

"I told Papa not to do it, but he said that he didn't do the hurting, the _cognes_ did," Azelma retorted. She looked from side to side. "I don't see that lancer anywhere."

"Why, what do you want with him?" Eponine asked through gritted teeth.

"It's not him..." Azelma's hollow cheeks darkened for a moment. "I see his other friends, and you know, some of them approach me for a little time or two. That's how it's been, you know perfectly well what I mean. But that's not all good for me. I'd like to have them see me differently."

' _Azelma has eyes on a lancer?'_ Eponine realized after a moment. "Differently?"

A ghost of a grin spread on Azelma's face. "I want to be respectable, like you. Be a sort of grisette."

"Oh what for? It's such hard work! And where's Papa?"

The younger Thenardier girl shrugged. "He's on business with Babet and Gueleumer. He left yesterday, said not to expect me back. He forgot to leave me bread so I ran. Montparnasse is still around, but with some other woman." Her face looked pained with this last sentence. "Please, you're the only one I know with something like a good roof over her head and something to eat. You have to help me."

Eponine sighed, realizing that Azelma was probably right. ' _She's still your sister, and you did ask her once to stay,'_ she reprimanded herself. "It will be a tight fit, since Gavroche and our other brothers are here with me, as I said before. But if you don't mind..."

"It's better than sleeping on the paving stones," Azelma conceded. She picked up the bundle of rags she'd brought with her. "Thank you, Ponine."

"No problem," Eponine said, managing a smile. It was a risk; who knew if Azelma would bring Patron-Minette down on them for some reason or another, but it was better than leaving her out in the cold. ' _Now how to explain this to Theodule and the rest?'_ she wondered silently as she showed her sister into the house.


	19. Chapter 19: By Any Other Name

**Chapter 19: By Any Other Name**

"It's rather ominous; the _emigres_ ' spies are already deep in Paris; all kinds of names and locations have come up-and  
that's just from the note given to you, and a second brought in by another friend of yours, a young man known as Foulon."

Enjolras laced his fingers together as he glanced from Bahorel to the Surete agent they were speaking with.  
He knew the name well enough; Foulon was a recent graduate from the Ecole Polytechnique, a diligent fellow who had  
somehow kept up his studies as well as the precarious operation of providing enough armaments for the barricade.  
"How did Foulon find the note?" How then will you investigate this?" Enjolras asked cautiously.

"For now, we'll have to ask our inspectors to keep their eyes open and make a few inquiries within our networks,"  
the still drowsy agent said, wiping his brow. He tapped the book of ciphers that Enjolras brought with him.  
"How did you come across that volume?"

"In a bookshop here in Paris. I was wondering if any of the codes here would be perhaps a base to the one  
we've been investigating," Enjolras explained. In truth, he hadn't been entirely far off the mark; although it had not been found  
in the book, the cipher used in the letter had been a greatly adulterated version of a code developed by English spies working  
in the area of Brittany during Napoleon's regime. He had to admit it was a fairly efficient system, with direct ways of  
identifying locations and movements of individuals and groups.

Bahorel rubbed his palm over his unshaven face. "We should send reports to the other cities;  
I am sure that this isn't an isolated case."

"The question though is how to do it without arousing panic _or_ suspicion," the Surete agent pointed out.  
"What about the diplomats? They have to do something about the _émigrés_ behind this."

"You mean Talleyrand?" Bahorel scoffed. "We'd probably go further with seeking out Louis-Philippe himself and '  
questioning him to his face. Also, most _émigrés_ will not talk if they are in the safety of Prussia, Spain, or England."

"We can't aggravate them, or we might find an army at our borders," the agent argued.  
"The National Guard is still in no shape to deal with such a threat."

"What we also have are sympathetic friends in those countries. Perhaps they can help us get to the bottom of the matter discreetly  
before we have to start issuing warrants or start any formal questioning. With our charter still yet to be ratified, our hands are still  
tied as to how to properly deal with this matter," Enjolras suggested.

Bahorel nodded grimly. "All the same we'll have to work fast or we may as well be building barricades to keep them _out_."  
He pensively began to roll a cigarette. "If I remember, Grantaire has some friends in Prussia. Might be worth taking a pulse there,  
as you would say it."

"A former professor of his who moved there because of the _emeutes_ last year," Enjolras said. He could only hope that other  
such promising contacts could be found in other countries despite the general unease of France's neighbours with regard to the  
reinstitution of the republic. ' _I never thought that Bahorel would enjoy this sort of intrigue,'_ he mused. Then again, his friend had  
a reputation for being able to find a friendly face anywhere for whatever task, a skill that necessitated knowledge of  
infiltration and maintaining allies by whatever necessary means.

"That's where I'll start; it will be an easy letter to deliver," Bahorel concurred. "Speaking of which, any word yet from Toulon?"

Enjolras shook his head. "I'm giving them another day before I will write again to remind them of the documents."  
He knew it would take time to dig up Jean Valjean's records as well as other pertinent papers, but the delay was  
not doing the elderly convict any favors. ' _It does not help that he has little faith that reviewing his case will help him get free,'_  
he thought.

Yet somehow, there had been a feeble ray of hope in this conundrum. Owing to curiosity and necessity, he had been doing  
a little research as to the glass and jewelry trade in the time frame that Jean Valjean had been living in hiding.  
One particular item from the old Drapeau Blanc had caught his attention just the night before, the story of the town of  
Montreuil-sur-mer and its years of prosperity under its mayor, a certain Monsieur Madeleine. The name of Jean Valjean had come up  
in this tale for the simple fact that Madeleine had at one point answered too to the name of Valjean.  
Enjolras intended to clarify the matter, or confront Jean Valjean with it at the soonest possible opportunity.

"I'm not sure what's more troublesome; this or the issue of women voting," the agent said after a long silence.  
"I can't imagine my own sister at the polls, but my mother..."

"Lafayette may as well allow them. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, and we all do know of who led the march on Versailles,"  
Bahorel remarked. "The National Guard won't be able to stand up to a horde of women _enrages_."

"Indeed," Enjolras said, not wanting to imagine this frightening possibility. After a while he took his leave of the Surete's  
headquarters and headed to La Force just as a church bell chimed the hour. It was only eight in the morning.  
He was supposed to meet the Pontmercys within the hour in order to ensure that they would have a few minutes  
to speak with Jean Valjean.

When he arrived at the gate of the prison compound, he saw the young couple standing there, talking rather avidly.  
"I'm sorry for the delay; I was detained with another important matter," Enjolras said by way of greeting.

Marius nodded, keeping his grip on a basket loaded with bread and covered with a basket.  
"It should be us apologizing for inconveniencing you."

"I'm simply doing what I have to do," Enjolras replied. He saw that there was no carriage was in the vicinity, and it seemed  
as if the hems of Cosette's skirt and Marius' trousers were dusty. "Did you walk all the way here?"

"Yes, actually," Cosette replied. "It's a fine day for it, Citizen Enjolras."

Enjolras noted, but did not make any mention of, the odd dreaminess in Cosette's tone, as well as the more clipped one of Marius.  
These and any other inconsequential observations were subsequently driven out when he asked the guard to inform the warden  
of their visit, only to be told after some minutes that Jean Valjean had been taken to the infirmary just earlier that morning.

Marius paled visibly at the news while Cosette clapped a hand to her mouth to stifle a cry of emotion.  
"How could he have gotten ill so fast? He was well at the wedding," Cosette said when she could trust herself to speak again.  
She shook her head. "We have to bring him away from here, back home."

"How?" Marius asked.

"I'm not sure, but there has to be someone we can talk to!" Cosette insisted, half-dragging Marius with her into the  
prison compound and leaving an astonished Enjolras to follow them to the infirmary.

The change in Jean Valjean was indescribable. When he had been dragged away from the Rue des Filles du Calvaire,  
he had been despondent but not stooped. When Enjolras had last visited him, the day after making his first inquiries, Jean Valjean  
had claimed to be 'merely' weary. Today though, the old man had the countenance of one who has been stricken:  
his face was nearly as white as his hair, his cheeks had begun to sag, and his hands seemed wasted. Despite this, Valjean made a  
valiant effort to sit up in his cot on seeing the newcomers. His lips moved as if to speak, moments before Cosette knelt  
at his bedside, resting her head on his shoulder. Marius cautiously moved to join them before he too was overcome with  
emotion and had to remain silent.

Enjolras remained at the infirmary door to give them some privacy. "What happened?" he asked the physician on duty.

"A fever. Some of the prisoners have been coming down with it," the doctor replied in a low tone. He pulled Enjolras further away  
from the ill man. "There is an additional illness though, and his old age as well; it's good that you brought his family here.  
It might tip the balance in favour of life."

"Is there anything more that can be done for him?"

"Short of moving him here and medicine? No. Leave it to God and his physique to fight it out."

Enjolras looked back over his shoulder and watched for a moment as Cosette seemed to be entreating Jean Valjean.  
' _Perhaps the only way to save him would be to secure his pardon,'_ he realized. Yet on what grounds?  
  
Then there was that larger question: if Jean Valjean should be restored to his family, shouldn't the same go for other inmates?  
For now, that query would have to be unanswered; today it was Jean Valjean's past he had come to address.

He stepped towards the ramshackle cot. "Citizen Valjean, you failed to mention that you abided for a time at Montreuil-sur-mer,"  
he said.

Jean Valjean managed a slight shrug of his shoulders. "You did not ask."

"Why, does that matter?" Marius asked in consternation.

"It does, since he was the benefactor of a town that for a very long had barely been getting by.  
He turned around Montreuil-sur-mer: he made their glass goods industry profitable, he opened schools,  
fixed the hospitals, and saw to the general welfare of the people," Enjolras replied. "He was the mayor there, and he went by  
the name of Madeleine."

"Father, when was this?" Cosette asked.

"Before I met your mother. It was there we met, and I learned of her story," Jean Valjean replied.

"You may as well know too, Citizen Pontmercy-you remember the spy that was at the barricade?" Enjolras said to his friend.

Marius nodded dumbly. "His name was Javert."

"He was not killed there; your father-in-law spared him," Enjolras concluded. "If you ever believe in saints, well you are  
now in the presence of one still living."

Cosette's face had brightened with awe and astonishment. "And you never told anyone?" she asked Jean Valjean.

"There was no need to," he answered. "Let the matter rest-"

"When it can very well save you!" Marius cried. "I was an ingrate to think wrongly of you; everything is clear now. We must secure  
your pardon straightaway and you will come and live with us." He looked to Enjolras.  
"Would it be possible to ask at the Prefecture for his release?"

"I wish I could promise it," Enjolras said sombrely. It was a highly irregular situation under the law, but he knew that it would weigh  
on his conscience forever if he did not intervene regardless of the other duties he had to fulfil that day. "We can ask that you be  
released for the sake of your health-some sort of guarantee may have to be made but regardless of what it is, you cannot stay  
here any longer. However the previous records from Toulon will have to be reviewed anyway for the pardon,"  
he explained to Jean Valjean.

"And if he is not released I will stay here myself to care for him," Cosette declared. "None of you shall tell me I can't,"  
she added, looking at the three men.

Marius was agog for a moment but he nodded as he helped Cosette to her feet. "You shan't have to, we will see to it right away."  
He clasped Jean Valjean's hand. "Father, we will be back straightaway, you shall sup with us tonight!"  
To this Jean Valjean only smiled before whispering his thanks.

Unfortunately the task was far more complicated than any of the young people had anticipated; even after reading both  
of Enjolras' and Marius' depositions, as well as a written statement from Cosette in order to get the Prefect Gisquet  
to send for officials from La Force in order to deliberate on the matter. By the time this was done, it was already mid-afternoon.  
It was nearly half-past four when at last the weary trio made their way back in a fiacre to La Force, with the provisional order  
releasing Jean Valjean from the prison until his sentence would be reviewed.

The physician was waiting for them at the gate. "He's taken a bit of a turn for the worse. He's weaker but resting," he reported.

"We're bringing him away now," Marius said determinedly. "I only hope we're not too late." He stayed to negotiate the fare  
with the fiacre driver for the next leg of the trip to the Rue des Filles du Calvaire, while Enjolras and Cosette went ahead to  
the infirmary.

Jean Valjean did not stir even when Cosette approached his bedside. "Father, we've come to bring you home," she whispered  
as she clasped his hand. "Please, stay with us."

The old man's eyes opened slowly. "Fantine?"

"No! Who is Fantine?" Cosette asked confusedly. "It's me, Cosette."

"Ah," Jean Valjean let out a long breath, as if of relief. "And where is Marius?"

"Right here!" Marius said, now making his appearance. "Enjolras is here too; he helped us secure the permission for you to  
come with us."

"You shouldn't have," Jean Valjean rebuked Enjolras. "You know what wrong I did-"

"And it would be more wrong to allow you to suffer here," Enjolras said adamantly as he assisted Marius in helping Jean Valjean up.  
He hid his consternation on seeing how easily Jean Valjean was lifted out of his bed; he seemed so frail such that even Cosette  
could carry him all the way to the fiacre. Perhaps they had come just in the nick of time.

After seeing off his friends, he made his way to the Hotel de Ville to finish up the work he had unexpectedly set aside thanks to  
these recent events. He remained there long past the hour for vespers, up until a worried custodian knocked on the office door,  
nearly certain that someone was breaking in and rifling through valuable records. It was only then that he decided it was about time  
he returned home. ' _Perhaps the rest will be asleep by then,'_ he thought as he buttoned up his coat to his chin to protect him from  
the now rather chilly night air. The night was quiet, with only the sounds of carriages and people hailing each other 'good evening!'  
breaking the tranquillity. Enjolras found that he enjoyed this sort of everyday cadence, despite his temperament being usually  
inclined to more martial and stirring sounds. ' _I'm becoming a bit like Combeferre nowadays,'_ he realized with wry amusement.

It was just as well that when Enjolras finally arrived at his dwelling, he was just in time to catch his physician friend before the  
latter left for a house call. "Courfeyrac and Bossuet could not find you at the Hotel de Ville today," Combeferre remarked as he  
carefully packed up his instruments.

"I had to see to Citizen Valjean today," Enjolras said. He briefly outlined Jean Valjean's situation, but he made sure to omit the  
man's part in letting Inspector Javert go free. "I only fear though that we might not have been in time to save him," he finished  
sombrely.

"You all did, are doing what you can for him," Combeferre said, placing a hand on his shoulder.  
"How is it that no one knew that he was the mayor of Montreuil-sur-mer?"

"It was long ago, and the incident was hushed up," Enjolras replied.

Combeferre nodded understandingly. "Perhaps all will be set to right. When are you expecting the documents to arrive from Toulon?"

"Within the week, I should hope," Enjolras said. He clasped his friend's arm lightly. "I shall not detain you any longer.  
Best of luck with your call."

"I'll need it," the physician said gratefully. "You get some rest now," he added before walking briskly into the night.

As Enjolras walked up the stairs, he could hear the sound of hushed chatter punctuated by an occasional giggle.  
When he got to his floor, he saw the Thenardier sisters sitting in the hall, mending various garments by the light of a single  
flickering candle. Eponine was still wearing her blue work dress, but she had let her hair down and was now barefoot.  
She was sewing rather quickly, despite having to stop to untangle the thread from her gnarled left hand. As for Azelma, she wa  
s clad in just a chemise, with a shawl thrown about her shoulders as a concession to modesty. She worked a little more slowly,  
almost as if her fingers were unused to plying a needle. The younger Thenardier girl's raven hair was tangled every which way  
and her cheekbones throwing eerie shadows in the dim light. In a way, she was even more ghoulish looking than her sister had  
been at the barricade.

Eponine smiled brightly at him as she put down her needle and thread. "Ah there you are Enjolras! Just when Combeferre has  
left—that's pretty timely of you."

"I saw him at the door," the young man replied. He nodded politely to Azelma; he had already guessed that she was going to be  
around on a rather permanent basis. "Good evening to you too, Citizeness Thenardier. Why are you both sewing out here?"

Azelma rolled her eyes. "That will be confusing if there will be two of us who will be called that."

"You wanted to be called 'Mademoiselle Thenardier' too," Eponine scolded. "We didn't want to disturb the boys; they're asleep now  
and I have to get them up early for classes tomorrow."

Azelma shrugged. "What am I to do then if they will be at school and you are at work?"

"You're coming with me to the shop. After lunch, we will go and have some dresses made for you," Eponine replied.  
"Citizen Ravigard let me have half the day off, just for you."

"What if I want to stay here and sleep?"

"You'll have to wait till I get another free day, and you'll have to go half-dressed then."

Azelma stuck out her tongue. "I'll be bored at a bookshop. Apart from your lancer, I don't see any other uniformed men there."

"You cannot loiter in the Rue Babylone all day-it would look funny!"

"It's no more funny than you working."

Enjolras cleared his throat as a petulant look crossed Eponine's face. "It's rather late, and you both should get some rest,"  
he suggested.

"So should you. You have dark circles under your eyes, you've been reading too much all night," Eponine replied as she  
got to her feet. She paused and bit her lip. "Speaking of reading, did you really mean to let me borrow that book by Rousseau?"

"You remembered. I'll get the book right now, if you wish," Enjolras said. He had not been sure how to gauge her actual interest  
in the subject matter, but he knew that he was in no position to discourage her. ' _Something good may come out of it,'_ he told  
himself as he went into his room to fetch his copy of ' _A Discourse on Inequality'_. As he rummaged through his bookshelves,  
he heard what sounded like some bickering between the sisters before a door opened and shut again in the hall.  
When he returned, Eponine was by herself, folding up all the mended garments.

The girl let out a deep sigh when she saw him. "You might find it strange why she's come to stay, when we don't get along  
as well as we did," she remarked.

"I thought she was staying with your friend Montparnasse?" he asked as he picked up a small shirt that had fallen by the wayside  
and handed it to her.

"I thought so too," Eponine said in a tone that made it clear that she didn't want to expound on the matter. She bit her lip again.  
"I wish I could trust her again. But after what happened, what she told Papa about Cosette's father, I just cannot.  
He shouldn't be in jail."

"Citizen Valjean was released on a sort of temporary pass for his health's sake," Enjolras told her.  
"He's staying right now at the Rue des Filles du Calvaire."

"And he's not well?"

"Far from it." He caught her by her elbow before she could rush into her room.  
"It has nothing to do with you. There was already a lot weighing on him before your sister spoke up," he said more firmly.

Eponine nodded after a few moments as she tried to maintain her composure. "I have to see him, and Cosette, and Marius.  
Just to let them know. Just to apologize for all of this."

"If you believe it will help." He realized that his hand was still around her arm, and he quickly let go of her.  
"I do not believe you need to atone for anything, though. They will not hold it against you, or even against Azelma,"  
he added in a lower voice.

She managed a smile, but in the dimness of the room it was hard to tell if it was one of despondence or relief.  
"If I have to apologize to anyone then, it has to be to Claudine. You remember she was asking me to attend some sort of meeting  
today? Well I didn't go. I really meant to, but Theodule came to visit, and so that ended the matter."

Enjolras looked down, if only to hide his disapproval. _'_ _Maybe letting her into this political fray may not be the best idea given_  
that she knows so little of it, but it's better than her running around senselessly with that lancer,' he thought, glancing down at  
the book he had brought for her. "Perhaps after you've read a little, you'll be more inclined to attend another assembly,"  
he remarked.

"Maybe, but...just don't tell Theodule," Eponine whispered, her eyes growing dark with anxiety. "He's no student like you were and I  
can't expect him to like this so easily. I've told him that I've had some education like he does, but I don't know why he finds it  
so odd. Mama said that Azelma and I had to learn _something_ since we had to help run the inn someday, and she said that she  
wanted us to be able to talk to respectable young men." She let out a sardonic laugh and nearly dropped the clothes she was  
carrying. "And here, I've met one who doesn't care if I do or not!"

' _For your sake, I hope he changes his tune soon,'_ Enjolras couldn't help thinking. He shook his head to clear away this idea before  
going to open the door for her. "You know I have no reason to tell him anything. This is between you and him."

"You're one of those telling me to do otherwise," Eponine pointed out. She quickly put down the clothes she was carrying on a chair  
before going right back out to get the book from him. "Thank you though. I'll give it back as soon as I can," she murmured.  
"Good night, Enjolras."

"Good night to you too, Citizenness Thenardier." He saw her roll her eyes at this before she closed the door of her room behind her.  
' _I cannot say 'thou' to her without overstepping,'_ he thought as he blew out the candle and went to his own quarters.


	20. Chapter 20: A Step to Defiance

**Chapter 20: A Step to Defiance**

"Why do we have to be here at the Marais? I thought we were supposed to be getting dresses!"

Eponine crossed her arms as she continued to listen to Azelma's renewed griping while they walked up the Rue des Filles du Calvaire. "If we do not go now, we might never get the chance to apologize to Citizen Valjean and the Pontmercys," she said tersely, wrapping her shawl around her shoulders as the afternoon breeze grew stronger.

Azelma scowled as she scuffed her oversized shoes. "I don't see why we have to say sorry if it was Papa who did the talking."

"Because I told, and you told, and Papa is never going to come up to it, so it has to be us," the older girl said firmly. She glanced over her shoulder at the house marked Number Six, noticing that some of the curtains in the windows were drawn as she had seen other people do when there was an invalid on the premises. "It won't take too long, Zelma. If you like we can even ask the Baronne if she knows a good milliner," she added in a whisper.

"Hats for you and me?" Azelma laughed. "That's a fine thing to think about with winter coming again."

"Well you'd better believe it. So please, please behave," Eponine admonished before half-dragging her sister to the door. She swallowed hard and took a few deep breaths before knocking. _'Please let it be Cosette or Nicolette,'_ she pleaded silently as she heard footsteps in the hall. She managed a smile when the door opened a crack to reveal Nicolette. "Good afternoon. My sister and I are just here to visit Madame Baronne's father," she greeted quickly.

"I'm afraid Citizen Valjean is resting. He's very ill," the maid said.

"We won't be long, I promise," Eponine pleaded.

"Nicolette, who is at the door?" Cosette called from upstairs.

"Madame, it's just Citizenness Thenardier and her sister, here to see your father," Nicolette replied over her shoulder.

"Let them in; I'll meet them upstairs," Cosette replied.

Nicolette sighed as she opened the door wider to admit the Thenardier girls. "Don't you get Madame too worried; she's been up all night tending to the gentleman," she admonished as she showed them to the staircase.

Cosette was already waiting in the hallway. From afar she appeared no worse for wear but as Eponine drew closer she could see the dark circles under Cosette's eyes. "Am I glad to see you!" Madame Pontmercy whispered as she lightly squeezed Eponine's arm. "And you too, Azelma," she added, smiling at the younger Thenardier sister.

Azelma crossed her arms. "I can't believe you remember me, you didn't say a word to me when you saw me at that Gorbeau garret."

Cosette's cheeks colored for a moment. "I'm sorry. I must admit that day I didn't recognize you, or Eponine," she whispered. "We can't stay long in the room; Father needs his rest but he would like to see you both," she added as she gestured to the sickroom.

Azelma shook her head. "I think I'll wait out here, if you don't mind," she murmured.

"I'll ask Nicolette to bring you some tea and biscuits in the sitting room," Cosette said.

"You don't have to, since we won't be long-" Eponine protested but her friend had already called for Nicolette. ' _To think she's going to hate me in a moment for what I will have to say,'_ she thought as she hung back as Cosette saw Azelma to the sitting room downstairs. At that moment she felt her resolve falter, knowing she would have to answer this kindness with her terrible news, and she had to pinch herself twice to keep these thoughts at bay.

"Please Eponine, don't be so uneasy; you're my guest in my home," Cosette said when she returned. "Marius is away at work, Aunt is at her prayers and Grandfather has gone to visit a friend of his, so it is so good of you to visit," she added as she led her friend into the sickroom.

Eponine might have said something to this, but the sight of Jean Valjean abed with the covers drawn up to his pallid chin was enough to make her bite her tongue. For a moment she thought of backing out of the room, but she realized that the elderly man was watching her. "Citizen Fauchelevent-no, I mean, Citizen Valjean, I'm sorry," she managed to say as she went to his bedside.

It took a while for Jean Valjean to speak. "What are you apologizing for?"

"Because it was my father who told the police who you were, and he wouldn't have known if I hadn't told my sister," Eponine confessed. She looked at Cosette, who was pale and silent. "It happened on the day of your wedding, Cosette. I had to step outside to get some air..."

"And Azelma was there?" Cosette pressed on anxiously.

Eponine sighed miserably. "I told her to tell Papa to _promise_ that he wouldn't hurt you, but he didn't seem to listen," she said to Jean Valjean. "I understand if you want me to leave now..."

Jean Valjean shook his head slowly. "It was not your fault or your sister's," he murmured. He raised his hand as if to lay it on her head but his arm fell back on the bed. "There is nothing to forgive."

"How can you say such a thing even after all that happened?" Eponine blurted out. She swiped at her eyes, now finding herself unable to look at either Cosette or Jean Valjean. "I hope you recover soon. Now I must go, and good day to you."

"Eponine, wait!" Cosette called, managing to catch her friend by the hand before the latter could run down the stairs. "Please stay a little longer."

"Why? Aren't you angry with me?" Eponine hissed.

"I'm not happy, but Father is right, you are not to blame," Cosette answered after a few moments. "Thank you though for explaining what happened."

The younger girl shrugged. "I s'pose it was the one good thing I could do."

"Oh Ponine, you can do so much more than that," Cosette said. "Marius' cousin said that you're a clever girl and that you take wonderful care of your brothers."

Eponine nearly burst out laughing at the reference to Theodule. "He doesn't think I'm clever enough to read into politics," she whispered.

"Politics?" Cosette asked. "Oh! That talk about ladies being able to vote-yes, I believe Theodule did bring it up when he visited Aunt yesterday evening."

"So even here, he mentioned that he's objecting to it?"

"Oh he and Grandfather had a long discussion on that topic. Grandfather is pretty much a Republican now, but he still has reservations about ladies being in the Assembly," Cosette explained.

"What does Citizen Pontmercy think?"

"He hasn't made up his mind since he'd rather examine the issue more. I think he actually wants to avoid trouble."

"You?"

Cosette sighed, glancing back to Jean Valjean's sickroom. "I'd like to vote if only to help other people in some way, people like my father. You know that a man in La Force has no say, nor does a woman in Saint Lazare."

Eponine bit her lip, again remembering her mother's fate. "I s'pose that would be so. You already want for nothing."

"Except to have Father healthy again, and to know more about my mother. Still, I think I have been blessed enough," Cosette said. "So what about you then? You'd definitely go to an assembly."

' _Not with what Theodule has to say about it,'_ Eponine thought as she shrugged. "Maybe, if they'd allow us. I'm not sure they ever would."

"That's what they said about revolution," Cosette quipped. "Now I won't keep you any longer-Azelma told me that she wants to get hats, and it's a long way to the shop I suggested that you visit. I hope you two can come again soon."

Eponine nodded. "Hopefully when things get better. Thank you for the help, Cosette," she said before going downstairs to collect her sister. Thankfully the provision of food was enough to make Azelma less ornery, allowing the Thenardier girls to return to the Latin Quartier without any incident.

It was just as well that when they arrived at the dress shop where Musichetta worked, their friend had just finished putting lace trimming on a puce colored ball dress. "Eponine, what a pleasant surprise!" Musichetta greeted as she got out from behind her usual work table. "You must be Eponine's sister. I don't believe we've been properly introduced though," she said to Azelma.

"You can call me Azelma," the younger girl said stiffly. "How did you know I'm her sister?"

"There's a slight resemblance," Musichetta replied.

Eponine couldn't help but smile at this observation. "Azelma needs some dresses. I don't have enough of my own to lend to her," she said.

"I'm happy to help," Musichetta said, quickly returning to her worktable to fetch a long strip of cloth that had markings along one edge. "Azelma, could you please stand straight? I just have to get a few measurements so we can have your dresses fitting you nicely."

"When will I have my new clothes?" Azelma asked impatiently as she tried not to fidget.

"Within a week, hopefully," Musichetta replied. "You definitely should _not_ borrow your sister's dresses," she said to Azelma. "Your hair colors are different, and what looks good on her would clash with you."

"Also, Ponine doesn't like lace, I don't mind it," Azelma chimed in. "I saw a pretty dress I liked once but she said it looked like someone was wearing a cake."

Eponine rolled her eyes at the memory. It seemed like another lifetime ago when she and Azelma had walked barefoot, commenting on the various gowns in fashion that season and imagining that all that satin would keep them warm. "You were thinking about it while we were still living under a bridge. How silly is that? I would have rather _eaten_ a cake."

Musichetta laughed as she rummaged for some swatches of fabric for Azelma to choose from. "By the way, where were you yesterday? Claudine was wondering if you'd ever turn up at the meeting."

Eponine swallowed hard even as she fought to keep a straight face. "I had an appointment."

The older grisette raised an eyebrow but didn't comment any further. On the other hand Azelma clucked her tongue and smirked. "Did someone break a promise?" she said in a singsong tone.

"Azelma!" Eponine snapped.

"You always do that-you say you'll be at some place and then you end up in another."

"Stop it!"

"Why it's the truth, I heard you tell Citizen Enjolras about how you just ended up going with Citizen Gillenormand to someplace."

"You were eavesdropping!"

Musichetta rolled her eyes at this quarrelling. "You two really are sisters. What does Enjolras have to do with this matter anyway?" she asked teasingly.

"I borrowed a book of his, that's all," Eponine said, crossing her arms.

"It's a shame, there was so much that you would have been interested in hearing. Some talk of political theory and de Gouges but there was a barrister's wife from Rouen who gave a series of convincing arguments for us ladies being able to vote," Musichetta remarked ruefully over the sound of the shop door swinging open.

"Chetta! Has Claudine been in here today?" a harried looking woman greeted from the doorway. She was dressed in gray, like many other grisettes were wont to do, but her apparel was tastefully decorated with ruffles along the bodice. Her face was clear and rosy, but her real crowning glory was her chestnut hair, which was arranged in curls and held back with a simple comb.

"Not yet, Paulette, but we will meet later," Musichetta replied. "By the way I should introduce you all: Eponine, Azelma, meet Paulette Vigny. Paulette, meet Eponine and Azelma Thenardier."

"Sisters? Which one of you is older?" Paulette asked the girls candidly.

"Obviously her, since she's taller," Azelma said, gesturing to Eponine.

Eponine sighed exasperatedly. "Zelma, really, must you always say something?"

Paulette laughed before looking more seriously at Musichetta. "I've tried reasoning with Maurice. I know he wants time to sort things out, but I have to remind him that we only have a few _months_ before this problem becomes impossible for both of us."

"He means well, but he's never been in that situation before," Musichetta pointed out.

"I should hope so!"

Eponine glanced at them quizzically. "Who is Maurice?"

"Courfeyrac," Musichetta said. "Paulette is his-"

"Fiancee," Paulette cut in, crossing her arms over her middle. "Well I would be if I could prevail on him to do the right thing for our reputations."

Only then it dawned on Eponine just what Paulette's situation was. A look at her sister told her that she was likely thinking the same thing. "There's such a thing as pennyroyal," Azelma finally said, picking out several blue and purple swatches.

"It's too late for that, and I'm not about to kill my child," Paulette muttered curtly. She looked keenly at Eponine and snapped her fingers. "Ah yes, Maurice did mention you, Eponine. He didn't say though whose particular friend you are."

"A lady doesn't always _need_ to be particular friends with a gentleman," Musichetta pointed out. The harried seamstress sighed and put her hands akimbo. "There's going to be another meeting later, an important one really since the petition will be drafted to send to Lafayette," she said.

"I heard that some of the officials might be there tonight," Paulette chimed in before blowing a stray lock of hair out of her face. "Do you attend political meetings?" she asked the Thenardier girls.

"No since we're busy," Eponine replied quickly.

This time Musichetta could not help but shake her head. "Eponine, does your lancer need to visit you every single evening?" she asked. "I'm sure he can spare you for a night or two."

"Theodule doesn't like me attending these meetings," Eponine said, raising an eyebrow. "And maybe I don't really need to, you know?"

"What does it matter what Citizen Gillenormand has to say or not, when the issue concerns you more?" Musichetta asked.

"Because..." Eponine faltered, wondering how to explain the situation to her friend without letting on too much about the argument that had happened in the bookshop several days ago. "I would rather not argue very much with him," she finally said.

"Sometimes, it is worth arguing with a man. It is the only way to get anything done," Paulette remarked smugly. "When the man is not Maurice, that is."

"But if Citizen Gillenormand had nothing to do with it, if you didn't know him, would you at least _consider_ attending a gathering?" Azelma asked her sister.

"Well..."

"And don't lie."

Eponine looked down. "Maybe. It's not as if Theodule has to know everything I'm up to," she admitted. ' _After all he does not know I have that book from Enjolras' shelf,'_ she reasoned silently.

"Then we have a plan," Paulette said, clapping her hands. "The meeting is at the Cafe Bon Vivant tonight, at seven."

Eponine managed a smile even as Azelma quickly steered the conversation towards what Musichetta had planned for the dresses. ' _Just enough time to get the boys from school and then bring them home,'_ she realized. She shut her eyes, silently wishing that Theodule would not be waiting at the door of the house when they arrived.


	21. Chapter 21: On Truces and the Lack Thereof

**Chapter 21: On Truces and the Lack Thereof**

"The question is if we will even be allowed in the meeting to observe the proceedings."

Feuilly only smiled cryptically at Courfeyrac as they, along with Enjolras, walked up the street towards the Cafe Bon Vivant. "That depends on how well we present our arguments at the door. Besides I believe they have word, or rumors that some officials will be visiting."

"They will be expecting Lafayette, not a deputy," Enjolras pointed out in a terse undertone. He had not originally expected to be headed to the assembly; he had much to do now that the papers he had requested from Toulon had finally arrived. However at the last minute Lafayette had been summoned home by his wife, while some of Enjolras' other colleagues had other matters to attend to such as dinner, letters, other meetings, or the sudden appearances of relatives from outside Paris. ' _Let every man to his excuses,'_ he thought as he adjusted the cuffs of his coat.

"But what deputies though!" Courfeyrac said, sounding a little more chipper now. "Enjolras, you need to only speak to whichever lady is at the door and she will let us in, certainly!"

"There are better ways of gaining admittance," Enjolras pointed out.

"Well we can see if Combeferre and Claudine are present. They told me to look for them when I arrived," Feuilly suggested. "Musichetta might be there; Joly mentioned it today. I don't know if Bahorel's mistress is interested in politics but maybe she might make an appearance soon. "

Enjolras saw a small smile cross Courfeyrac's face. "I may as well tell you; Paulette will be there," the younger man announced. "Finally you will make her acquaintance."

"You are in a better accord with her now?" Enjolras asked dryly.

"It's an uneasy truce but a truce nonetheless," Courfeyrac said.

"I didn't know you were avidly supporting this issue of women's suffrage," Enjolras said to Feuilly.

Feuilly adjusted his grubby cap. "I believe that the question of liberation is for all persons in any oppressed country—and that women are essential in this struggle. Therefore they deserve more than just representation," the fanmaker answered as they neared the cafe door. Some women were milling about there, chatting rather raucously as they distributed some leaflets to passers-by. A few of these ladies had puce ribbons decorating their sleeves and bonnets. At the sight of the three men, the younger girls in the group blushed and began tittering among themselves, only to receive sharp looks and upbraiding from their elders.

"Citizens. What is your business here?" one of the more matronly looking women greeted harshly.

"Observing the meeting, Citizenness. I understand that there was an invitation extended to the Hotel de Ville to send observers," Enjolras said cordially, refusing to be unruffled by this cold reception.

"The invitation was for Lafayette," the woman snapped. "Not for his lackeys."

It was just as well that right then, Claudine emerged from the cafe. "Madame Renault, they are friends,' she said calmly to the matron who'd accosted the young men. She smiled warmly at the newcomers. "I was expecting you'd be here, Feuilly, but not you two," she said, indicating Enjolras and Courfeyrac.

"Enjolras here is the observer. I'm here by Paulette's invitation," Courfeyrac replied.

"Ah yes, of course. She isn't here yet though. Combeferre can't make it tonight; he and Joly are taking over for some colleagues at this evening's shift," Claudine said, ushering them indoors. "Come on, I think the meeting will be called to order soon."

The Cafe Bon Vivant's front room was so full such that most of the cafe's tables had to be cleared away, and all the newcomers had to be content with standing at the periphery of the room. The din was almost deafening in that rather small space; in fact Enjolras could feel the beginnings of a headache coming on as he and Courfeyrac tried to make small talk with various ladies of the latter's acquaintance. Feuilly on the other hand had quickly found a few neighbours of his and was now quietly listening to some of their harangues. There were a few other men present, but they mostly kept to themselves in the corners of the cafe.

After a brief but rather engaging conversation with a few charming grisettes, Courfeyrac surreptitiously elbowed Enjolras. "After all this time, you're still so reserved!"

"Anything wrong with it?" Enjolras asked.

"Well any woman here would be thrilled for you to initiate a conversation," Courfeyrac chided lightly. "There must be someone here aside from Claudine who you can hold discourse with for longer than a minute at a time!"

"Perhaps with practice," the older lawyer quipped dryly.

Courfeyrac made a frustrated noise. "Any woman-well there are the Thenardier girls, but I doubt even the elder one would catch your fancy."

Enjolras gave his friend an exasperated look just as he saw Claudine rush again towards the doorway. He didn't have to crane his neck to get a good look at what was happening; more people had arrived, friends of Claudine's judging by the woman's enthusiastic greeting. ' _Of course she invited Citizenness Laurain,'_ he thought, recognizing Musichetta's melodious chatter in the din.

Courfeyrac grinned widely and quickly made his way towards the door. "Paulette!" he greeted rather broad-shouldered woman with long chestnut hair. She and another girl were being introduced by Feuilly and Musichetta to some other women. The young lawyer took Paulette's arm and gently drew her aside to where Enjolras was still waiting. "Enjolras, meet Paulette Vigny. Paulette, my friend Enjolras. You have heard of him; he works with Lafayette."

"For _once_ you are early, Maurice," the woman greeted, giving Courfeyrac a pinch on his arm. She smiled cordially at Enjolras. "It is good to finally meet you in person."

"I could say the same for you, Citizenness," Enjolras said, making a slight bow.

Paulette's cheeks turned pink for a moment before she smiled affectionately at Courfeyrac. "I know I promised to keep you company at this gathering, but I must also entertain a friend of mine," she said, indicating her friend, who had silently walked up to them.

Enjolras' eyes widened with astonishment when he realized who Paulette had brought with her. ' _What finally prompted Eponine to come here?'_ he wondered silently as he nodded to this other newcomer. "Good evening Citizenness Thenardier."

"And to you too, Enjolras. When Paulette said that there'd be officials here, I didn't know she was referring to you," Eponine replied with an amused grin. She fiddled with the collar of her green dress. "I didn't think I'd end up here this evening."

"Actually I did not originally intend to be present either," Enjolras admitted. "Where are Azelma and your brothers?"

"At home. Azelma didn't want to come and besides the boys cannot stay up late. Well maybe Gavroche can but he has to go to classes tomorrow. So Azelma said she'd watch the boys," Eponine said.

"Are you sure she can manage herself?" Enjolras asked sceptically, remembering the sisters' row the night before.

Eponine shrugged. "Who else can I trust? Besides our concierge, Citizenness Leclair, is home tonight. That makes them all a little safer, doesn't it?"

"Perhaps," Enjolras said. It was clear though from Eponine's tone that she still had little confidence in her sister. "She's quite a sensible woman and I think your sister will not make trouble on her watch."

"Madame Leclair is quite formidable to keep up with you and Combeferre," Eponine remarked. "Maybe some time, I can arrange so that she and maybe even Azelma can see something like this too."

"That is a good idea," Enjolras concurred. ' _I am not sure what Citizenness Leclair thinks of these matters, but at least it would be a good diversion for Azelma,'_ he thought. He saw that Eponine had brought out a book, specifically the one he had just lent to her. "How much of it have you finished reading?" he asked her curiously.

"A little. I only read when there are no customers about, which doesn't happen very often since everyone comes in for textbooks and those books by de Gouges," Eponine said. "It's confusing though, and I'm writing down words I don't really know so I can borrow one of Citizen Ravigard's primers and find out what they mean."

Enjolras had to hide a smile at the idea of Eponine thumbing through the books at the shop when her employer wasn't looking. "That is ingenious."

"You think so? I didn't read that much today either since I had to bring Azelma to the dressmaker's. And I visited Citizen Valjean too. Cosette was so kind to let me in." She looked down and bit her lip, as if unsure how to continue. "I didn't know he was so ill. I hope he won't die like my mother did because of being in prison."

"He has a better chance now that he is home with his family," Enjolras pointed out. He looked to where Musichetta, Paulette, Claudine, Courfeyrac, and Feuilly had now found some seats. "You should join them," he said, lightly touching Eponine's arm to guide her to the rest of the group.

She glanced at where his hand had rested, and for a moment a surprised smile crossed her face. "They'll be talking politics. I don't know enough about it yet," she said after a moment.

"You'll learn from listening to them. I'm sure Feuilly would be glad to answer some of your questions," Enjolras advised. He knew that his friend would not pass up an opportunity to be a teacher of sorts. "I'm certain that Citizenness Vigny and Citizenness Laurain also have a lot to say."

"I know. They've told me a lot while we were walking here and it's all been fascinating. Still, you're the one who is in the thick of things the most and I want to hear more about what you think of it," Eponine pointed out. "Won't you join us?"

"In a while," Enjolras replied, having just spotted in a nearby corner an acquaintance of his from the Courgarde. Before he could go over and greet his comrade, one of the matrons called the meeting to order, forcing Enjolras to find an inconspicuous spot near the cafe's stairwell, rather far from his friends. ' _At least I won't miss much from here,'_ he decided, realizing that his vantage point gave him a good view of the proceedings at the front of the room, as well as of the doorway just a few paces off.

He was pleasantly surprised to find that the flow of the meeting was quite organized; Claudine and her companions had done their work well by designating particular persons to speak up and represent the group instead of giving the floor for anyone to speak as she pleased. ' _Hopefully all of these ladies approve of this sort of parliament,'_ he thought as he brought out his pocketbook and a pencil to take his own notes of the proceedings. He knew it would be a good observation to make in their favour; with this and other good reports, the other officials of the provisional commissions would be more inclined to believe in the capacity of women to participate calmly and rationally in politics.

In the middle of a rousing debate about the minimum age required for voting, Enjolras noticed one of the girls standing next to the door step out and speak to someone standing in the street. The young woman ducked back into the cafe after a few moments and slipped over to where Eponine and her friends were seated. Enjolras felt an odd sense of disquiet as he saw Eponine's brow furrow while she began fidgeting again, but this time with the hem of her glove. At last she nodded and got up from her seat and headed outside despite some protestations from Claudine and Feuilly. Courfeyrac moved as if to follow her or at least eavesdrop at the door, but Enjolras caught his gaze and shook his head. "Leave her be," he mouthed.

Courfeyrac shook his head and made his way over to where Enjolras was seated. "She's meeting with Marius' cousin, that lancer Gillenormand."

"And what of it?"

"Enjolras, you know that even Madame Pontmercy, sweet and kind creature as she is, once told the ladies and in my hearing no less, that she would like to pelt a rock at him?" Courfeyrac glanced over his shoulder at where Eponine had gone. "Does Citizenness Thenardier know that?"

"Not that particular bit, but perhaps the impression," Enjolras answered. By this time the argument outside the door was growing audible enough for words to be distinguished even from where he was seated. ' _That cannot be good,'_ Enjolras decided as he and Courfeyrac made their way to the door.

Eponine's voice was still low enough to pass for a whisper but her tone was definitely taut and terse. "It was Musichetta and Paulette who invited me here. They-the gentlemen I mean, have nothing to do with it, I promise!"

"And what about me? You know we meet, and I came tonight to your house and found out from your sister you weren't home. You don't have to take up every invitation that comes your way," Theodule retorted. His voice was soft too, but now sounded a shade more imperious.

"It's only just once! They are my friends, we aren't doing anything wrong." The light sound of scuffing boots was just distinguishable beyond this heated exchange. "Now please I have to go back inside, we can meet tomorrow-"

"Eponine, you have to stop this foolishness. All this talk of women actually being able to vote is not going to amount to much, you know how the government thinks."

"It's not a silly idea, as you keep telling me. There are so many people here, not just the ladies. That has to count for something!"

"It's not respectable!"

"There are ladies there, bourgeoisie like Madame Pontmercy. Of course it's respectable!"

"Because-it's not what's done, you know there are better things you can be doing. Not these ideas of reading, attending meetings when you have to be practical. "

"I take care of my sister and my brothers, and I have been doing just fine at the bookshop, so I'm _not_ being impractical!"

"Eponine, this is no place for us to argue, let's go elsewhere-"

"I'm staying."

"What? Come on, we can get dinner—"

"Let go of me!"

The sound of someone falling hard against the pavement was enough for Enjolras and Courfeyrac to rush out into the street to break up the fight. When they stepped out, they found Theodule half-sitting in the gutter while Eponine stood a few paces away, with her back to the wall and her face indignant. Her right hand was clenched into a fist, as if she was preparing to ward him off. Some passers-by were staring at them but no one dared to go near.

The lancer muttered something and got to his feet, dusting mud off his now soiled uniform. "You have been giving her ideas." His eyes narrowed accusingly at Enjolras. "You have been lending her books, I know it."

"I don't deny it," Enjolras said mildly. "Nevertheless this does not change the fact that if Citizenness Thenardier wishes to finish this meeting, you are in no position to hinder her," he added, looking straight at the lancer.

Theodule's mustache twitched as he regarded Enjolras for a long moment, during which it seemed as if he would either turn on his heel or actually hit the other young man. "You're bringing her away from her place. Into danger. I will not let you do this to her," he growled.

Before Enjolras could say anything, Eponine had stepped away from the wall and was now standing between them. "Theodule, that is not the way it is," she said clearly. She was standing up straight, taller than Enjolras had ever seen her before. "I'm not afraid of what you can say or of what you can do to me. I've faced more dangerous men than you."

"Stop being so stubborn!" Theodule said exasperatedly. "Why can't you be like other girls—"

"What, fine and respectable and following you every which way?" Eponine laughed bitterly as she looked up at Theodule. "You're a funny man, Theodule. You knew who I am, and yet you still expect me to be something different?"

Theodule's expression was unreadable as he regarded the girl. "I simply do not expect any respectable woman to hold on so strongly about things that shouldn't be her business."

Enjolras cleared his throat to catch their attention even as he noticed out of the corner of his eye that Courfeyrac had gone back inside the cafe and was now waiting at the door with Feuilly and another friend in tow. "I'll leave you two to settle this," Enjolras said firmly to Eponine and Theodule. "Let me make one thing clear though, Citizen Gillenormand: if you lay a hand on Citizenness Thenardier, I will not hesitate to intervene as well as make this matter known even to your commanding officer."

Theodule blanched momentarily at this warning but he looked Enjolras in the face. "I would never do such a thing," he muttered.

"I will hold you to that," Enjolras replied sternly before going back inside the cafe. "We'd better leave them alone," he said to the men, motioning for them to step away from the door.

"But not too far though-" Feuilly cautioned. He sighed at the questioning looks that Musichetta, Paulette and Claudine gave them. "A disagreement," he said.

Claudine rolled her eyes. "The only way there will be any lasting peace with those two is if Eponine keeps her opinions to herself, which is not something she is inclined to."

"He didn't do anything to her, did he?" Musichetta asked Enjolras.

"No, it was the other way around," Enjolras replied before listening once again to the debate. Some accord was rapidly being reached regarding the point that the age could be lowered to seventeen-the same age when a young woman could be held accountable for a misdeed and be sentenced to an actual prison term at Saint Lazare. ' _An ironic precedent,_ he thought.

At length, the cafe door creaked open and Eponine slipped in. Her face wasn't pale or wan, but she was biting her lip. Musichetta immediately drew her down to sit beside her and clasped her wrist. The younger girl sighed before murmuring something that had Musichetta and the other women nodding. "There, there, it could come right if you give him enough time," Paulette was heard to say.

"I s'pose it was silly for me to think he'd understand. Cosette warned me so already," Eponine said as she smoothed out her skirt. "Well he's gone on home to the barracks now. I don't know if he'll want to see me tomorrow."

"If he stays away because of this it is his problem, not yours," Musichetta said seriously.

Eponine sighed. "I like him. I thought that he could like me too."

Fortunately for Enjolras it was at that moment that the sound of applause came from the front of the room, signalling the end of the debate. ' _Of all times to be distracted,'_ he chided himself, wishing he'd thought of jotting down more of the goings-on instead of eavesdropping on his friend. However he could see that Eponine was still perturbed, if the way she picked at her gloves was any indication. _'Maybe she'll have something more to say about it later or tomorrow,'_ he thought as he brought out his pocketbook again to continue making notes.

The rest of the evening was lively, from the continuing debates onto the actual drafting of a petition to bring to Lafayette. "It has to be delivered by tomorrow; there is no time to lose," Claudine informed Enjolras towards the end of the meeting while some of the women present affixed their signatures or marks to the document.

"Perhaps you can see to that personally, young man?" a crone crooned.

Enjolras paused, knowing instantly that he'd been pretty much trammelled into this errand and that outright refusal was out of the question. "I will do my best," he said diplomatically.

"Not just to Lafayette. The others on the constitutional committee should know too," Feuilly suggested.

Enjolras nodded and clapped his friend on the shoulder. "That idea is far more feasible," he agreed. Lafayette had little time nowadays to personally look over petitions, and furthermore he was just one voice in the multitude. However the other men on the constitutional commissions were more accessible, at least to Enjolras. They too would have a say in the matter and their combined opinions could make or break the final decision.

He stepped to one side in order to let Eponine take her turn to sign the petition. He could not help but notice how Eponine gripped her pen; it was evident that at least she had been schooled enough to handle it properly instead of clumsily clutching it as some other men and women were wont to do. Her signature was smooth and flowing, the only embellishment being a slight flourish underneath the last r in 'Thenardier'.

"I used to make it look like a rose," Eponine confessed, realizing that Enjolras had seen how she wrote her name. "Then Papa told me it was silly and messy."

"It's not _usual_ , at least," Enjolras said. After all who was he to argue; his own handwriting occasionally became illegible especially when he was tired. He waited for the ink on the petition to dry before helping to roll it up and seal it. By this time the familiar sounds of the night patrol had long left the streets, and most of the assembly-goers including Paulette, Courfeyrac, Claudine, Feuilly, and Musichetta had departed for their homes.

He noticed that Eponine had sat down at a table, apparently to continue reading through Rousseau, but she was so drowsy such that she was already resting her chin on the table and simply staring at the text. The very sight of her was quite odd; Enjolras knew that she was capable of going home by herself since she seemed to have little fear of the dark streets. Now he had no choice but to accompany her.

"It's time to go, Citizenness," he said, touching her shoulder to shake her awake.

She smiled sleepily and stretched before getting to her feet. "That took long."

"Maybe you should have gone on ahead," he said.

She shook her head as she picked up her shawl and threw it about her shoulders. "We live in the same building, it would only make sense to return home at the same time," she pointed out.

' _Well it is not as if either of us object to the situation,'_ he thought as he held the door open for her as they left the cafe. Some of the lamps on the street were sputtering out, lending a slightly eerie light to the premises. Enjolras looked up and down for a fiacre, but Eponine ran on ahead. "Wait a moment!" he called to her.

"You're the one who's walking slowly!" she hollered. She stopped and looked up at the starlit sky. "Look, even the moon is about to set. I used to wait for this sort of hour."

"Why?"

"I'd go out. It would be dark and no one would see me. I liked it since I could see the stars much better that way. There are many more of them you can see when the moon isn't there; it's as if they are just waiting for the bright light to go away."

' _Much like Patron-Minette?"_ Enjolras wondered as he walked up to her. "Weren't you ever afraid?"

She shook her head. "Do you think they will really allow it?" she asked more seriously. "I mean, could anything good happen with that petition?"

"I cannot predict the outcome, but it is good to see that there are many who sympathize with this cause," he said.

"Such as you?"

"I understand the merits of it," Enjolras replied.

Eponine looked down, as if she was struggling with something. "That is good to know, Enjolras," she finally said. She did not say anything more as they walked back to the Rue Jean-Jacques Rousseau, but the silence did not seem all that uncomfortable. In fact, Enjolras might have dared to think it was necessary, if only to prevent either of them from saying anything potentially upsetting.

It was only when they were at the doors of their respective rooms that Eponine let out a sigh."You know, Theodule would be furious if he saw us like this," she said.

"Perhaps next time you can remind him to accompany you instead?" Enjolras asked dryly.

"To where?" Eponine said wryly. She already had her key out but she made no effort to open her door. "Thank you for walking with me. Good night Enjolras."

"Good night Citizenness Thenardier," Enjolras replied as he began looking for his keys.

Eponine shook her head. "You _could_ call me Eponine. It would be the same as calling Citizenness Combeferre 'Combeferre', I think."

' _It was only a matter of time till she brought that up,'_ Enjolras thought. "I'm only trying to be courteous," he informed her. "A lot of people are also this way even when speaking to relatives."

"Maybe in the big houses and manors," Eponine retorted. "Could you please try saying my name?"

"Eponine." Surprisingly, the word felt rather easy on his lips. "Alright then. Good night, Eponine."

"There, now I like it that way," she said with a smile before letting herself into the room.


	22. Chapter 22: A Step Into the Future

**Chapter 22: A Step Into the Future**

Unfortunately for Eponine, she had underestimated the length of Theodule's absence. "I think one day would be enough, maybe two if he was really so irritated. Four days though is just too much!" she complained one day after she and her siblings were finished having breakfast. "I honestly do not know what I can do to get him to speak to me again."

"You ought to look for another lancer then. I saw two younger ones yesterday when Musichetta and i were with that poet friend of yours, Citizen Prouvaire," Azelma said as she wiped her hands on the skirt of her new dress.

"Oh you know it's not as simple as that!"

"Why not? They were awfully charming to me. Not so much to Citizen Prouvaire; they found him odd but don't you ever tell him that."

' _I wonder what he must have been saying or wearing then,'_ Eponine thought, not hiding her amused smile. "Just because they are charming as you say, that does not mean they will give me as much attention as Theodule does." ' _Or did,'_ a voice nagged at her as she put away the remainder of the bread and cheese they had for their repast.

"When will we have lunch?" Neville asked as he dusted crumbs off his pants.

"Maybe around noon," Eponine said as she picked up their mostly empty cups. "I won't be here though; I'll be at the shop so Azelma will be in charge, or Citizenness Leclair."

"Where are Citizen Enjolras and Citizen Combeferre?" Jacques asked, tugging on Eponine's skirt. "Will they be joining us?"

"I don't know." She bit her lip, thinking back on these other absent friends. Combeferre was often at the Necker nowadays, filling in for interns who were preparing for their exams. He had been on duty since the previous evening. Enjolras on the other hand had been practically living at the Hotel de Ville for the past few days because of the deliberations on the question of the women's vote. ' _It's far too quiet here now,'_ she thought.

"Will that lancer visit again then?" Gavroche asked, tracing mustaches on his face.

"That's another thing I don't know," Eponine replied more curtly than she intended. Jacques drew back and pulled Neville to a corner of the room. Gavroche shook his head and followed the younger boys. There were no classes that day, so the children were free to do as they wished.

A step sounded in the hall. "Citizenness Thenardier, there's a man here to see you," the concierge, Citizenness Leclair, called.

"Which one of us?" Azelma asked.

"The younger one."

Azelma quickly excused herself and hurried out of the kitchen. Meanwhile Eponine hurried upstairs to finish preparing for her day at work. When she returned to the kitchen, she could hear the chatter of her brothers at play. _'They cannot possibly understand everything that's happening,'_ she thought as she peeked into the kitchen just in time to see them start up a game of marbles. Neville and Jacques were far too young to see what she had seen, and besides Magnon had shielded them well from some of the brutalities of living in Paris. However the same could not be said for her oldest brother. ' _Maman should never have put him out on the street,'_ she thought with a sigh.

"You do not remember her very well, do you?" she asked Gavroche when the latter got up for a while from his game.

"Who?"

"Maman. I know you would visit us at Gorbeau, but it was not that often."

The boy rested his chin on his hands and smiled cheekily. "I would have seen you more if you had any bread to give."

"Was that how you met Enjolras, Combeferre, Courfeyrac and the rest?" she asked. "Did you ask them for bread or something?"

"No, they needed someone to bring around messages. Someone small who could get past all of those _cognes_ ," Gavroche replied.

"You were never afraid?"

"I run fast."

Eponine smirked as she watched him run back to help Jacques search for a stray marble. "I'll see you three later," she called as she left the kitchen. ' _What is taking Azelma so long?'_ she wondered, realizing that her sister had yet to return. She opened the front door a crack, just enough to hear her sister conferring with a rather more gruff but very familiar voice.

"Azelma?" Eponine called. She saw a taller figure retreat towards the alley near the house "Wait! Montparnasse!" she shouted, running into the shadows.

"You still know me, Citizenness Thenardier," Montparnasse said as he turned to face her. "I heard that is what you are called now."

"No, I'm still called Eponine," the older Thenardier girl replied, feeling awkward at this new formality. "How goes it with you now, Montparnasse?"

"Very well," Montparnasse replied in a clipped tone. "Now I must go."

"You never said what brings you here," Eponine pointed out.

"He wants to know Claquesous' murderer," Azelma shot back from where she had followed her sister. She folded her arms and glared at Eponine. "You know who it is."

Eponine glared at her. "Babet talked to me before and I told him I know nothing about what happened."

"How could you not know? You were at the Rue de la Chanvrerie, you must have seen it," Montparnasse spat. "Maybe you were too busy looking out for your precious Baron Pontmercy?"

Eponine felt bile rise in her throat at the mention of Marius. "I wasn't at the barricade the entire time, and I fell down very early."

"Same thing she told Babet," Azelma muttered. "Maybe she isn't lying?"

Montparnasse shook his head and twirled his billystick. "Let me help you remember, Eponine. No matter if you didn't see Claquesous' face, ever. No one can ever be sure anyway. You remember how big he was though; what broad shoulders he had. Now there was surely a man like that at the barricade. Perhaps someone bigger must have held him down, to put a gun right to his head. To the right side, to be more exact."

Eponine shut her eyes, trying to recall anything of those hours in the redoubt. " _How could such a thing happen when there was so much to be done at the barricade?'_ she wondered. Her mind was awhirl as she envisioned some men reciting a love poem, others making cartridges, and still more brandishing guns. Then there was Enjolras, stern and silent, yet fearsome. Something about the light perhaps had made his golden hair seem like a terrifying halo. She bit her lip again, this time hard enough to draw a little blood. "I can't remember."

Azelma swore and Montparnasse slammed his billystick against the wall. "Useless. Both of you, like your father!" the assassin growled. "You'd tell on your father and yet you'd hide a murderer?"

Eponine looked him in the face. "It wouldn't be the first time, Montparnasse. You would know that." After all she had stood nearby or lurked in alleys on several occasions while he accosted his victims. ' _You know I could tell,'_ she wanted to say, but she knew her silence would be more than enough.

After a few long moments, Montparnasse muttered something under his breath and put away his billystick. "Next time we meet, I hope your memory serves you better. Till we meet again, Citizennesses," he said before he tipped his hat and walked off quickly down the alley.

Only then did Eponine grab her sister's arm. "Azelma, how long have you been speaking to him?"

"Speaking?" Azelma snapped. "What do you mean?"

"You _told_ him we were here!" Eponine hissed. "Have you been trying to help Patron-Minette?"

"It was Babet who told long ago," Azelma said. "I don't give up my old friends as easily as you do!"

"Yes, but I don't even know if Claquesous was murdered. I don't want to tell something that might actually not be true. I don't really know what happened." Eponine looked straight at her sister, hoping she could understand what she was trying to say. "I'm not helping them anymore. It's our only chance. It's the only way to be respectable. If you want to find a lancer, and I want to find-well I am not sure anymore! We cannot keep this up with Patron-Minette."

Azelma shook herself free of Eponine's grip. "You cannot keep telling me what to do, Ponine. I have friends too and I will talk to them as I please!" she retorted before going back into the house and slamming the door behind her.

Eponine clenched her fists, stopping only when the pain in her left hand became almost enough for her to cry out. She took a few deep breaths and swiped at her eyes, willing herself to calm down. ' _How to make this end?'_ she wondered as she made her way now to work. Thankfully there were many volumes at the shop that needed to be repaired and then catalogued, thus leaving Eponine with little opportunity for worry.

Towards closing time, Eponine finally started out with the most difficult job for the day: a particularly stubborn medical textbook that had nearly half of its pages falling out. ' _The only possibly worse thing would be to let the worms get to it,'_ she thought with a scowl as she tried to push a thick needle through the leather cover of the book. She adjusted her thimble in order to provide more leverage against the needle, but cursed when the only result was the eye of the needle snapping entirely. "God in heaven, why must everything go wrong today?" she muttered.

At that moment the shop door clattered open. "Eponine! Have you heard already? There's been the most wonderful news!" Claudine greeted breathlessly as she and Combeferre walked in. Both of them were red in the face and their hats were askew, as if they'd just walked a great distance rather rapidly.

"What sort of news?" Eponine asked petulantly as she fiddled with her thimble.

"The constitutional committee has just released its decision. We'll be allowed to vote!" Claudine announced, grinning from ear to ear.

"Just now?" Eponine asked incredulously as she accidentally let her thimble drop. She cursed as she ducked to retrieve the item. "When did this happen?"

"Two hours ago," Combeferre answered, pausing only to wipe off his spectacles. "I'm not aware about the particulars of the decision making, but the memorandum is now official."

"Now the next thing to worry about is to disseminate the news so that it can get to the other cities and provinces in time for the plebiscite itself," Claudine added more enthusiastically. "Aren't you happy about it, Eponine?"

"Yes, but I've had so much to worry about too!" Eponine replied distractedly. She put the thimble on the table and shook her hair out of her face. "So that means now I'll have to actually read the charter before voting on it?"

Combeferre nodded. "There might be other discussions soon about it, to explain the Charter-"

"There _will_ be discussions about it, I'll help see to that," Claudine said cheerily. "Maybe we can have those meetings during noon, right near the ateliers and shops. The good thing about noon also, Eponine, is that you won't have to worry about seeing to your brothers. Azelma can come too."

Eponine snorted at the thought of Azelma sitting through an entire political discussion; it was likely that Azelma would walk out on hearing any opinion that upset her. "It had better be soon or we'll never finish talking about it," she remarked.

"True," Combeferre concurred. "Speaking of this, have you seen Enjolras at all in the past day or so?"

Eponine paused, trying to remember when was the last time she'd seen her neighbour. "I haven't seen him for _three_ days; I did hear him come up to his room once to get some clothes," she finally said.

Combeferre and Claudine exchanged looks. "He's at it again," the doctor said.

"At what?" Eponine asked.

"When Enjolras gets occupied with something important, he occasionally forgets to look after himself," Combeferre explained as he rubbed his temples. "We're all guilty of that to some extent, but Enjolras tends to be rather uncompromising."

' _I could imagine that,'_ Eponine thought. "You're a doctor, you could prescribe something for him," she said to Combeferre.

"Yes, a sleeping draught...and a rope to keep him restrained to his bed," Combeferre quipped. "Knowing him he hasn't eaten very much, and has slept even less. I'll have a word with him when I see him later."

"What Enjolras needs is a woman-be it his mother or a sweetheart to fuss over him," Claudine declared seriously.

Combeferre and Eponine laughed. "Musichetta does more than enough of it for both Joly and Bossuet," Combeferre said. He smiled as he looked towards the window. "There are two of you ladies here, so perhaps we might have a chance of persuading him," he said.

Eponine had been about to pick up the book again, but she set it back down when she saw Enjolras entering the bookshop. His pallor made the dark circles under his eyes even more evident, but this was the only sign that betrayed his weariness. "Good day to all of you. Is Citizen Ravigard around today?" he asked quickly.

"He stepped out for a moment," Eponine replied. She got out from behind the counter and went to Enjolras, who was leaning now against a counter. "Did you sleep at all last night?"

"For less than an hour, perhaps," Enjolras replied with a brief smile. He unrolled a paper he had brought with him. "I need his help in getting this memorandum reprinted for dissemination."

"He should be here in a few moments," Claudine said. "Thank you for all your help, Enjolras. I'm sure you had a part in making sure the commission would act on the matter right away."

"If you don't mind us asking, how did it happen?" Combeferre inquired curiously.

"It came to a vote too. The affirmative side won, just narrowly," Enjolras explained. He took a deep breath and ran a hand through his tousled hair. "Since the decision was far from unanimous, there may still be some difficulties and opposition ahead."

"How bad can we expect it?" Eponine asked. She bit her lip when she saw Enjolras hold back a yawn and she held his shoulder in order to steady him. "Never mind that for now. You need some rest," she whispered, feeling her gut twist with worry.

"I'll get it once I've finished attending to the memorandum," Enjolras insisted.

"There's some bread and cheese at the Rue Jean Jacques Rousseau. I'll even bring some more food home for supper," Eponine said quickly. She noticed Claudine and Combeferre watching them with mirthful looks on their faces. "It will help, won't it?"

Enjolras looked her in the face. "Eponine, you do not need to worry about me. I can take care of myself well enough," he said. He looked over his shoulder as the shop door rattled again as it swung open, this time admitting Ravigard. "Excuse me for a moment," he said before going to speak to the proprietor.

Eponine rolled her eyes. "Where were you headed to?" she asked Combeferre and Claudine.

"The Rue des Filles du Calvaire. Pontmercy wants a second opinion about the condition of his father-in-law," Combeferre said. "Though I think in light of the recent news, Claudine may have a change of plans," he added, smiling slyly at his mistress.

Claudine nudged him. "You are free to join the celebration too outside the Hotel de Ville."

"I would my dear, but I must be a physician first," Combeferre said remorsefully. "The case of Citizen Valjean is quite serious; the Pontmercys do not know how to help him regain his strength faster."

"I am so sure you and Joly can put him on his feet again. That's why they are asking you for assistance, and not your professors."

"If you mean to flatter me, my dear, I'm afraid you might have to talk about something outside of my profession."

Eponine willed herself to ignore the ensuing banter as she busied herself with threading a thicker needle in another attempt to stitch up the book. As she did this, she noticed a glimmer from just beyond the window. She quickly slammed down the tome and ran to the door, where a young man was just passing by. "Theodule!" she called. When the lancer didn't turn to look at her, she quickly ran up in front of him. "Please. I haven't seen you in several days."

The lancer stopped for a moment before bowing stiffly. "Shouldn't you be at work, Eponine?"

"Yes, but it's never stopped you before from coming by for a word or two," Eponine said, hoping that her voice didn't sound liked that of a whining child. She drew back on seeing that Theodule had a bandage on the left side of his head. "What happened to you?" she asked in alarm, standing on tiptoe to inspect the wound.

Theodule's brow furrowed until he winced with discomfort. "A minor alteraction." He moved to touch the bandage before desisting at the last moment. Instead he settled for clasping her arm briefly. "I never knew that Madame Pontmercy had such good aim," he muttered.

"Aim?" Eponine repeated. The mental image of Cosette flinging something like a rock at Theodule was almost too much for her, and she couldn't help but burst out laughing. "I am so sorry. Why would she throw something at you?" she asked when she regained her composure.

"I made the mistake of mentioning something about her father," Theodule muttered. "Now I must return to the barracks—"

"Won't you stay a little while?" Eponine asked. She clutched at his lapels for a moment before remembering they were out in the street, and she stepped away from him. "I'm sorry for what happened at the Bon Vivant. I shouldn't have pushed you into the gutter. I shouldn't have done any of that. Can you forgive me?"

Theodule looked down. "I've had worse happen to me, Eponine."

"So why have you been avoiding me?" Eponine pleaded. "It's the reading, isn't it? You've read books too, and I don't call it silly either. And I'm sure you've heard that women can vote now; it was decided on today. So maybe it's not so pointless-"

Theodule crossed his arms. "That voting is all well and good but what if it didn't happen. One day you'll marry and have children, and what use will all this talk about politics be then?"

"To teach children I guess-or at least one's sons if I could think what you're thinking."

The lancer chuckled. "A father can do that just as well."

"Not when he is always away, like a man such as you would be," Eponine retorted. Now that she thought about it, she could not quite imagine Theodule settling down. ' _His wife would be hard pressed to follow him around from post to post, or she would have to wait at home and miss him all the time,'_ she realized.

"If a father cannot do it, a schoolmaster can..." Theodule trailed off before taking a deep breath. "All I mean to say is that it isn't for you, Eponine. I only mean to protect you. I know you want to be like Mme de Roland and other women you have been reading about. But they were unusual. Almost unnatural."

Eponine stared at him in complete disbelief on hearing the word 'unnatural' coming from his lips. "Well you cannot tell me what to do if you are not my husband." She swallowed hard before speaking again. "I know too that a man like you cannot marry a woman like me."

He simply looked down and it seemed as if the rest of him had slumped. "You know that it isn't that simple," he finally said.

It was all that Eponine could do not to cringe on hearing her own words thrown back at her in this fashion. She stood up straight and managed a smile. "Well then, I shan't trouble you any longer. Or ever. Goodbye Citizen Gillenormand," she said before walking quickly back to the shop, willing herself not to look over her shoulder to see if he was watching her.


	23. Chapter 23: The Incident at the Wine Market

_A/N: Warning for quite a bit of violence in this chapter. Some of this is inspired by elections in Manila, others from Aung San Syuu Kyi's book "Letters from Burma."_

**Chapter 23: The incident at the Wine Market**

The aftermath of the decision of the constitutional committee proved to be anything but peaceful for Enjolras. On top of disseminating the memorandum and finalizing the plebiscite's procedures, there was still the matter of the review of Jean Valjean's case. It was such that in the early hours immediately preceding the plebiscite, he was already awake in his apartment, finalizing his notes about the documentation of one of Jean Valjean's escape attempts. ' _Despite all of that effort he could not find anything about his family after,'_ the young man thought as he set aside the paper. It was not unheard of for entire families to disappear in the countryside, but the circumstances of this particular tale made the matter more sordid. ' _For all we know some of them may have found their way to Paris without Citizen Valjean ever knowing of it,'_ he mused as he shut his eyes for a few moments to ease up the itchiness he was starting to feel there.

He heard what sounded like footsteps and a few groans and retorts on the other side of the wall that separated his apartment from that of the young Thenardiers. ' _What on earth are they up to this time?'_ he wondered as he rapped on the wall in an attempt to warn them to tone down the racket. However this only elicited some exclamations and a little more scolding before a door opened and someone stepped out into the hallway.

Enjolras opened his door a crack and saw that Eponine was in the hall, already dressed as if to go out. Her arms were crossed and her face was twisted up into a scowl. ' _Probably had a row with either Azelma or Gavroche again,'_ he thought as he stepped out. "Already heading to the plebiscite?" he asked her by way of greeting.

Eponine smiled briefly and nodded. "I may as well since I have much to do. Gavroche and Neville refuse to finish their assignments and Azelma is being _so_ trying since she wants us to go to the Rue Babylone again!" she complained.

"Rue Babylone? What for?" Enjolras asked.

"The barracks. She is intent on finding herself a man in uniform," Eponine replied, not even bothering to hide her look of disgust. "I keep telling her how Theodule and I had that falling out, but she still will not listen to me!"

Enjolras tried to keep a straight face at the memory of that afternoon outside Ravigard's. With the exceptions of Claudine, Musichetta, and Cosette, not one of their mutual friends knew the particulars of what had transpired between Eponine and the lancer. Nevertheless a certain change had become evident; Eponine still continued to keep late evenings outside of her apartment but she went about now with the ladies to some political discussions about the charter. Oddly enough, she had also grown pensive and furtive at once; pensive when alone or looking on her friends, but furtive when caring for her siblings. ' _At least it's much better than her attempting to drown herself again,'_ Enjolras conceded as he went to fetch his coat, and then hurried upstairs to see if Combeferre had returned from night duty at the Necker.

He half-expected to find the physician asleep or absent, but to his surprise Combeferre was up and about, also ready for the day. "I have to accompany Claudine," Combeferre said by way of explanation when Enjolras asked. "Have you heard the rumors that there might be thugs who will try to hinder the women from voting today?"

"Just rumors, but no confirmation. I believe though that some people might have reported this matter already to the Prefecture," Enjolras said. Since the decision to allow women's suffrage had come by so narrow a margin, the opposition was still very vocal in their protest. It did not help that there were also still elements averse to various provisions of the charter; some of these were workingmen and students who thought that the revolutionary government was capitulating to the bourgeoisie, while others were businessmen and traders who thought that the charter was slanted too far in favour of the working class. Matters had spiralled to the point that some grave threats had been made, much to the glee of the various journalists covering this momentous turn of events.

"Hopefully that is just a rumor and nothing more. I'd hate to see violence on a day like this," Combeferre said as he gave his coat a last adjustment.

"There was talk about asking the Prefecture or even the local garrisons for security at each precinct. I hope that arrangement was worked out sufficiently," he remarked. The city had been divided into eight precincts, with roughly two voting districts per quartier. The majority of the Amis were registered in the Latin Quartier precincts.

When they arrived downstairs, Eponine was fiddling with her hat and her shawl. She smiled on seeing the young men. "Where will you be headed after this, Combeferre? Back to the Necker?"

"No, I have the day off," Combeferre said. "I might stay with Claudine today to help watch over the precinct, make sure that there's no trouble."

Eponine nodded calmly, seeming unruffled about the mention of potential chaos. "What about you, Enjolras? Off to the Hotel de Ville again?"

"No. I'll finish some work I have to do about the case of Citizen Valjean," Enjolras answered as they made their way downstairs and out the door. As a member of the constitutional commission, he had to inhibit himself from the proceedings after casting his vote, in order to help prevent any accusations of the officials attempting to sway the vote in either direction. Perhaps if he had time later in the day, he would drop by the Marais to keep the Pontmercys and Jean Valjean updated about the turns the case could possibly take.

As they neared the corner of the Rue Jean-Jacques Rousseau, he heard the sound of light footsteps running up to them. Enjolras turned around and saw a familiar small figure approaching. "Gavroche, what are you doing here?" he asked.

"I want to see how the election will go, with both hens and cocks," Gavroche replied with a grin.

"It's no place for children, you had better go home," Eponine said.

"It was no place for ladies till the gents like him said so," Gavroche retorted, gesturing to Enjolras.

"You have to go home. There might be some trouble with thugs..." Enjolras began before taking one look at the boy's impish face challenging him to make an answer. He could not properly use the argument regarding danger, especially since Gavroche had survived the fighting at Corinth. "You may find it less than exciting," he finally said in another attempt to reason with the boy. "It's mostly people lining up to fill out ballots, and you're not allowed to say anything such as 'long live the charter' or wave any flags."

"That's censorship," Gavroche said with a scowl.

"It's called keeping out of trouble," Eponine replied. "Please I need you to stay and watch Azelma, Neville, and Jacques."

"Azelma doesn't need watching, and the _momes_ went back to sleep," Gavroche argued.

Combeferre shrugged. "Well you may come and wait for us, but if people start yelling you have to run."

"So will Ponine," Gavroche said, sticking out his tongue.

"That's enough," Enjolras warned, especially when Eponine yanked at Gavroche's ear. "Combeferre is right; it may go well but you have to leave if someone gets violent. Are we clear on that, Gavroche?"

The boy looked up at him and then nodded, though the defiance did not quite leave his face. "You'll have to duck things being thrown. I won't," he said as he continued walking alongside them in the general direction of Halles aux Vins, where their precinct was located.

"You can say that for now, till you start to shoot up yourself," Combeferre pointed out.

"Why, my father wasn't very tall," Gavroche quipped. "My mother though was a pillar."

Enjolras couldn't help but smirk particularly when Eponine gave her brother an exasperated look. ' _There will be no peace next door then,'_ he thought as the two siblings began to banter and annoy each other. The sun was beginning to rise now, lending some much-needed warmth to the chilly street. He could hear the sounds of the Latin Quarter beginning to wake after its short nocturnal respite; windows were being thrown open, footsteps sounded in alleys, and occasionally vendors walked about, bellowing as they hawked their various wares. Had it not been for the gravity of events, he might have allowed himself to believe that this was going to be yet another ordinary day.

The vicinity of the Halles aux Vins seemed to be more like a carnival than a voting precinct. More vendors and shopkeepers had set up business here, exchanging conjectures in between calling to potential customers. Even the bawds of the Latin Quarter had staked out a corner from where they now called lewdly to passers-by. There was much chatter and jesting in the queues leading to the voting stalls and ballot boxes, which were located in a large shed that had a single entrance. Some of the men who'd already finished voting were lingering and waiting for the nearby wineshops to open. A number of women decked out in puce ribbons were looking about for each other, adding their high-pitched voices to the din.

"There they are, at the end of the queue," Combeferre said as they neared the precinct. "Claudine of course, and Musichetta with Joly."

Musichetta whispered something to Joly and Claudine before breaking away from the queue and hurrying towards the newcomers. Her wavy hair was arranged in a simple updo adorned with a single puce ribbon. "You've missed some of the excitement," she reported. "There were some agents here with a cartload of rotten vegetables."

"What for?" Eponine asked, furrowing her brow.

"To pelt at the women who'd come here," Musichetta said with a grimace. "They might have really thrown something if Patrice hadn't immediately called for the men here to _be_ gentlemen and do something to stop it. He held off some of the worst fellows," she added, glancing fondly at Joly, who was fiddling with his cane.

' _At least he looks no worse for wear,'_ Enjolras thought, relieved that Joly had been around to deal with the situation. Although his physician friend seemed unassuming and even nervous, this manner only served to hide his fierceness. "Then what happened?"

"It ended well enough. Unfortunately it was those ladies there who were the _most_ uncivil," Musichetta said in a whisper, pointing to some shopgirls and fishwives who were watching them suspiciously. "Some of the guardsmen had to hold them back before they could maul the agents."

Eponine cringed. "Isn't that precisely what we have been advised _not_ to do?"

"Unfortunately people forget themselves," Combeferre sighed. "No one was hurt?"

"Not a scratch but a lot of screeching," Musichetta replied.

Enjolras nodded, remembering Bahorel's remark about the wrath of women in revolutions. "Let's hope that it will be the only trouble you will witness today, Citizenness Laurain," he said, knowing that the woman was not intent on leaving the area even after she'd cast her vote.

"I hope so too," Musichetta said, glancing back at the queue. "You should ask Patrice to tell you more about it later."

"We'd have to coerce him; you know how self-effacing he can be," Combeferre pointed out as they went to the end of the queue where Joly still was. He tipped his hat to his fellow physician "Musichetta can't stop singing your praises," he said.

Joly nearly started but his face soon turned beet-red when he saw who was now with him. "I just didn't want anyone to get hurt; wouldn't do to have surgery at this hour."

"You should have seen it. A fine moment, him versus the biggest thug. I thought he was going to use Canne de Combat on him," Claudine chimed in.

"All the same thank you for acting quickly," Enjolras said, clapping Joly on the shoulder. He was not sure if he himself could have intervened just as successfully in that situation. "Where's Bossuet?"

"He said he'd vote later; he woke up with a bad headache," Joly said. "I think he might have gotten the same nasal congestion I had last week."

Enjolras nodded, knowing better than to pursue this line of discussion. Instead he contented himself with quietly observing the proceedings. Apart from a few complaints about toes being stepped on or being shoved in the crowd, it seemed as if the plebiscite would proceed peacefully at least for the next hour or so. As for his friends, they all seemed to be in high spirits; Gavroche had desisted from pestering his sister, and had now moved on to listening as Combeferre and Claudine debated some point of science. Musichetta was now regaling Eponine and Joly with some hilarious story regarding her bousingot neighbours and Bahorel and Bossuet's indignant reaction to them.

The queue moved quickly, partly since the ballots were set up as a simple 'yes' or 'no' question, for people to either ratify the charter in full or to deny it entirely. It was a little simplistic, at least in Enjolras' view, but he understood that it had to be done in the interest of time and comprehensiveness. ' _It wouldn't do to have only half a charter ratified, not when we cannot afford a stalemate all the way into next year,'_ he reminded himself as he took a seat to fill out and then sign his own ballot.

Just as he was getting into the queue leading to the ballot box, a shriek came from outside the precinct. "How dare you! She's just a girl you brute!" an old woman's voice yelled over the ensuing commotion.

"Don't let them get inside the precinct!" a man roared before his warning was cut short by a cry of pain. People were rushing now into the shed, as if fleeing someone outside, but there were also an equal number of voters trying to escape the premises despite all calls for order. In a few moments two dozen men burst into the room, all of them brandishing large poles and clubs. Immediately the voters nearest the door rushed at these attackers in an attempt to repel them, unfortunately right at the same moment that one of the thugs tried to force his way in the general direction of the ballot box.

Enjolras quickly disarmed a thug who was about to knock down a spindly workingman, before narrowly dodging a cudgel being swung right at his head. He backed up to grab a fallen cane to use as a weapon, just as the sound of a piece of furniture smashing into the wall suddenly rent the air. Enjolras felt something drop in his stomach when he turned to see Combeferre lying on the floor in a heap. As he tried to make his way over to his friend, another voice called his name. He was yanked to the ground a moment before another chair hurtled through the air, this time shattering one of the shuttered windows nearby.

He found himself face to face with a rather dishevelled Eponine. The girl's eyes were wide with panic. "We have to get out of here!" she hissed.

"Combeferre is hurt. That first chair hit him," Enjolras replied. He looked around and saw Joly already making his way towards where Combeferre was. "Where is your brother?"

"I haven't seen him," Eponine said, brushing splinters out of her hair. "Maybe he already got out?"

' _One can never be sure if it's Gavroche'_ Enjolras thought as he got to his feet, pulling Eponine up after him. There was much to worry about; it was likely that the goons had stolen the ballot box or injured even more of the voters, but for now it was important to evacuate the shed safely. "He's just stunned, is he?" he asked Joly worriedly when they arrived.

"I hope so," Joly said worriedly. He had already taken off his cravat to use as a bandage. "Enjolras I think I might need yours too; this might soak through."

Enjolras quickly undid his cravat and handed it to Joly. As he helped his friend secure the length of fabric, he heard Combeferre groan. "Easy now, don't stand up," he warned his friend.

Combeferre's eyes opened quickly and he swore under his breath. "That chair-"

"Hit you in the head," Eponine said as she took off her shawl to serve as an additional bandage.

Combeferre winced as Enjolras handed him back his glasses. "Claudine and Musichetta were able to get out," he whispered.

"They will be back here in a few minutes, knowing them," Joly said, pressing harder on the wound. "Combeferre, I need you to follow my finger-good, your eyes seem to be working well. Do you feel nauseated at all?"

"Stay here. I'll look for Gavroche," Enjolras told Eponine over the sound of Joly continuing his examination. He only hoped that Gavroche was uninjured, if he was still on the premises.

"Enjolras, no. It might still be dangerous!" Eponine protested.

Enjolras shook his head, gesturing to where Joly was still tending to Combeferre. "They will need help moving soon," he said over his shoulder as he walked off. The last thing he wanted was Eponine going missing if more people were to attack the precinct.

When he stepped outside, he saw policemen already apprehending some of the goons who hadn't quite fled the scene in time. As he walked in the direction of the nearest building, a wine shop, he caught sight of one of the thugs hauling out the ballot box. He walked up to the man and grabbed him firmly by the shoulder. "Where are you bringing that, Citizen?" he asked sternly.

The thug tried to move away but Enjolras held him fast. "I-I don't know!"

"You _do_ know," Enjolras said, digging his fingers further into the man's shoulder. "You wouldn't have gone through the effort otherwise."

"I was told to bring this to Les Halles."

"That is a very long way from here, Citizen."

The thug swallowed hard. "Petit-Picpus, outside the old convent."

"To who?"

"I was only told to look for a tall gentleman with a white coat and blue lapels."

' _A middle-man,'_ Enjolras noted as he pried the thug's hand free of the ballot box. "This will stay here," he said as he signalled to one of the police officers present to take charge of the recovered ballots and to apprehend this stranger.

It was then that Claudine and Musichetta arrived back at the precinct with an inspector in tow. "Combeferre is hurt. He took a chair to the head," Enjolras told them bluntly.

Claudine gasped before quickly running into the shed. "Do we need to bring him to the hospital?" Musichetta asked Enjolras.

"Hopefully not," Enjolras replied grimly. Still he couldn't shake the fear that his friend had been concussed or worse; he'd seen and dealt out enough head wounds in various brawls to see their effects. "Have you seen Gavroche?"

Musichetta shook her head. "There were so many people running, and Combeferre was trying to cover for me and Claudine. What about Eponine?"

"She's safe," Enjolras replied. He finally caught sight of Gavroche perched on a pile of wrecked furniture, listening to the hurried conjectures of some workingmen. "There you are!"

Gavroche grinned at him. "See, I could run fast."

"Your sister is looking for you," Enjolras said as he went to help the child down. "Combeferre is injured, so I'll send you and Eponine home with him."

Gavroche shrugged. "Well you can't till my sister puts that paper in the box."

' _That depends if the plebiscite will still push through in this precinct,'_ Enjolras thought. Although he could see some policemen and officials trying to put order in the situation and clean up the premises, it looked as if it would be some time till the voting would resume. "At least you were able to get in the clear," he said to the boy.

"They were counterrevolutionaries, Citizen," Gavroche said, reaching into his vest pocket. "I was able to rip this off one of their coats."

Enjolras took a deep breath, recognizing the embroidered emblem of the fleur-de-lis. ' _But why this and say, not Louis-Philippe?'_ the thought crossed his mind before he looked at Gavroce seriously. "Are you absolutely sure?" he asked. It wouldn't be the first time he'd asked this sort of information from Gavroche, but this time the charge was far more serious.

"Wouldn't tell you otherwise," Gavroche said, sounding affronted. "Just like at the barricade, remember?"

"Yes, but this situation is rather different now," Enjolras said, noticing now his friends walking out of the precinct, with Combeferre propped up between Claudine and Joly. ' _Time to salvage what's left of the day,'_ Enjolras thought before joining the officials now beginning to reorganize the premises.


	24. Chapter 24: Plans and Tempests

_A/N: Wrapping up the plot twist! Again, no update till April 8 or after._

**Chapter 24: Plans and Tempests**

"We'll never get to go to the Rue Babylone today, will we?"

It was all that Eponine could do not to throw a shoe at Azelma. "Is that all you can think of?" she asked as she looked up from the last pages of ' _A Discourse on Inequality'._ She bit her lip at the sound of rain drumming relentlessly on the rooftop before lifting her feet from the floor so that her brothers wouldn't tread on her toes as they searched for a couple of missing marbles under her makeshift desk. It was a Sunday afternoon, a day that would have been a good opportunity for leisure had it not been for the foul weather that had suddenly begun that morning. ' _If this storm keeps up for the rest of the afternoon, I just might have to scream,'_ she thought as she tried to focus back on her reading. With any luck she would be able to return the book to Enjolras before suppertime that day.

She glanced up at the sound of footsteps and giggling from the apartment above them. ' _Best not to ask Combeferre and Claudine about that later,'_ she decided. It was December now, and it had been nearly three weeks since the tumultuous events at the Halles aux Vins. ' _At least we were able to get back to voting even if it started again very late,'_ she thought as she turned yet another page. The results of the plebiscite were still uncertain, as a number of precincts outside Paris had also experienced disruptions and thus there was a risk of some of the election results being invalidated. It was generally thought that the Latin Quartier precinct was the hardest hit, but the exact reason was still best left to conjecture.

At that moment Azelma sighed dramatically and flung her slippers against the wall. "We should go visiting. Musichetta, Paulette, and Claudine don't live so far off, and nor do Citizens Prouvaire, Grantaire and Bahorel."

"Zelma, it's raining! The only way we can go about is in a fiacre, and you know we don't really have the money for that," Eponine protested. While they had walked in the rain before, during their days as beggars, she wasn't about to risk coming down with a head cold or worse especially when she had to be at work the next day.

"You do have money. Citizen Ravigard paid you two days ago," Azelma pouted. "It's not even five francs, Ponine, it isn't very much!"

"Because we need every sou. If you want to take fiacres all the time, you ought to find some work yourself," Eponine retorted, putting her book aside.

Azelma laughed hollowly. "What sort of work? You know what I'm good at."

"Not that sort of work. Grisettes do different things," the older girl pointed out. Now that she thought about it, what did her sister know? ' _Maman had a hard time teaching her reading and writing, she never liked that. She doesn't like sewing either,'_ she thought. "What if you tried cooking someplace, or learning some work in a shop?"

Azelma twirled her hair. "Where is that going to get me?"

"Someplace. It's better than staying in this apartment all day, especially when the boys are at school."

"I can always meet with our friends, they are usually happy to see me. I won't be bored."

Eponine gave her sister a withering look. "Sometimes they have work to do. If it's not for their bread, it's for the Republic. You remember that Papa said that people shouldn't always bother with us since that could someday mean trouble."

"That was different. You're sounding as proper as Citizen Enjolras," Azelma shot back. "You can try all you want but you're _never_ going to be a fine bourgeoisie lady like Madame Pontmercy."

"Maybe but at least we're not walking the streets anymore!"

"Well you can say that till someone asks where you came from? Did you even tell that Citizen Gillenormand where we used to be?"

The mention of Theodule was like a slap. "Don't mention him anymore, Zelma," Eponine hissed.

"You never said why he left you," the younger girl taunted.

"It's not your concern." Eponine gathered up the book and headed downstairs to the kitchen, if only to stay warm in the kitchen and get away from Azelma's jibes. She couldn't help but wonder if their unexpected eviction from the Gorbeau tenenment had made Azelma as harsh as the autumn weather. For one, there was the fact that somehow she'd begun learning how to wield a knife and brutally pick pockets. ' _To think Papa only let us be lookouts, and nothing more,'_ Eponine thought as she sat a little bit away from the stove.

As she finally reached the last page of the book, she heard someone knocking on the front door. "Who's there?" she asked warily.

"It's me and Marius!" Cosette called from outside.

"Why them?" Eponine muttered under her breath, remembering her sister's reproach. Still, it wasn't as if she could leave them standing out in the rain. "Good afternoon, Citizen, Citizenness Pontmercy," she greeted, trying to affect a demure tone as she opened the door.

"Good day Citizeness Thenardier. Is Combeferre home?" Marius asked as they stepped in.

"He's upstairs. Let me go and knock first," Eponine replied. "You can leave your coats in the hall," she added before rushing upstairs. She was pretty sure that the Pontmercys would be embarrassed if they accidentally caught Combeferre in a less than presentable attitude. She knocked several times on her friend's door. "Combeferre, Claudine, the Pontmercys are here."

Much to her surprise, Combeferre was at the door immediately, not looking the least bit out of sorts. Thanks to the events at the plebiscite, the young doctor now had a scar on the left side of his head, half-hidden by his hair. "Tell them I'll be down in a few minutes," he said. "I just have to fetch the medicines they asked for."

' _For Citizen Valjean, no doubt,'_ she thought before hurrying downstairs. To her mortification she saw the Pontmercys sitting in the kitchen. "I'm sorry, this house is a tenement, there's no proper sitting room whatsoever to speak of, not like at your house!"

Cosette merely smiled. "You do not need to worry. After all, it is warmer here than in the hall."

Eponine nodded as she set aside the book she'd been reading, still feeling ashamed that the Pontmercys should see the humble place she was lodging in. "Combeferre will be here soon. You're here for medicines for your father? How is he doing?"

"A little better. He can sit up but he's not able to walk about his room yet," Cosette said. "I do wish he can be better by spring; there's a part of the garden that I set out especially for him to work on. We were to try to grow strawberries together."

"More of they were to see whose strawberries would turn out better," Marius remarked.

Eponine smirked, unable to imagine the young Baronne elbow-deep in the dirt. "Is that all you know how to grow?"

"I've tried roses, back at the Rue Plumet."

Marius cleared his throat. "Eponine, have you seen my cousin lately?"

It was all that the younger girl could to keep a straight face. "Not for more than a month now."

"Ah. Aunt said that he hasn't mentioned you in that same span of time," Cosette explained. "He hasn't been visiting very frequently either; I think I may have frightened him off."

"He said that you threw something at him?" Eponine asked.

Cosette reddened slightly. "Maybe I shouldn't have. He happened to disturb me while I was working at my garden; I go there when I do not want to think. He asked me about whether it was true that Father had been in jail and that he was an ex-convict."

"He was only curious," Marius pointed out.

"He _didn't_ have to say that we had to put a double watch on everything in the house since he feels that my father cannot be trusted," Cosette retorted. "So I threw a stone at him and told him to leave."

Eponine's jaw dropped. "That's what happened? You really did-"

"I've wanted to do that for some time now," Cosette admitted. "It's terrible since he's pretty much a cousin to me now but he can be rather trying."

"Without intending to, I think," Eponine said mildly.

"Why, what did he do to you?" Marius asked Eponine.

' _Must I tell him?'_ Eponine thought before she noticed Cosette's concerned look. "Well-"

"It was probably something silly," Cosette said with a shrug. "At any rate, he's the one who suffered the more for it."

Eponine gave Cosette a grateful smile. She sat up straight as she saw Combeferre and Claudine enter the kitchen. "That took long," she teased.

"The vials were hidden away in one of his shelves," Claudine replied, holding up a small cloth bag which she then handed to Cosette. "How are you both?" she asked the Pontmercys.

"Very well thank you. I hope we didn't intrude," Marius said sheepishly.

"Oh not at all," Combeferre said with a wave of his hand. "I have no patients to see, and if it were not for Citizenness Andreas and my neighbours here, I should only have my books for company."

Meanwhile, Eponine busied herself with searching the cupboards for something to eat while her friends exchanged pleasantries and inquired about each other's health and Citizen Valjean's situation. ' _Perhaps Azelma is right, I can never be as fine as they are,'_ she thought as she finally found some rolls left over from that day's breakfast.

"There's talk that today we might know the result of the plebiscite," Claudine said after a while.

"Well it's long in coming, even with the debates about the results from the precincts where the proceedings were disrupted," Combeferre remarked. "Fortunately matters went smoothly in the Marais precinct," he said to the Pontmercys.

Marius rubbed his temples. "Grandfather was furious that Cosette insisted on going out to vote. There is simply no way to refuse her."

"Marius, I read a bit about the Charter; not all of it but what I could manage while taking care of Father. There were parts I liked very much, and so I had to make myself heard," Cosette reasoned.

Claudine grinned at Cosette. "What have you been reading?"

"Aside from de Gouges?" Cosette asked innocently.

"Montesquieu; she borrowed a copy of it from Courfeyrac," Marius groaned. "If Grandfather knew-"

"Grandfather doesn't have to know everything."

Eponine did not hide her giggling. ' _He did not know what he was getting into when he married Cosette,'_ she thought. "He definitely shouldn't. He once called me a blood-drinker," she said.

"He once called a good many people blood-drinkers, but he's coming around to different points of view," Marius said, sounding more bemused than approving of this fact.

Eponine might have commented further on this if she did not hear the front hall door open again, followed by the sound of childish laughter. "Ponine, look what we found!" Jacques shouted, running into the kitchen and holding up what appeared to be a half-drowned ginger kitten. Like his new charge, he was soaking wet and still had beads of water glistening in his reddish hair.

"I told him not to go out, but that stupid boy wouldn't listen to me!" Azelma protested as she stomped into the kitchen, half-dragging Gavroche and Neville with her. All three of them were also drenched.

"Can't you all behave yourselves, we have guests!" Eponine scolded. She sighed on seeing the downcast looks on her younger brothers' faces. ' _How do I ever deal with them?'_ she wondered as she picked up the kitten that Jacques was trying to hide in his jacket pocket. "If he doesn't have fleas we can keep him," she said as she scratched the scrawny feline's ears.

" _She_ needs to get warm. Get an old shirt no one is using anymore and use it to wipe her dry, and then let her stay in the kitchen," Combeferre instructed. "I have more shirts in my room."

"How do you know if it's a boy or girl cat?" Neville asked, stepping aside to let Azelma, Gavroche and Jacques leave the room in search of a garment.

"You look down there," Claudine said, pointing to the cat's underside as she took the protesting kitten from Eponine.

"What are we going to name her?" Neville pressed on.

"I don't know. Maybe we can think of a name after you get into dry clothes," Eponine said, ushering her brother out of the kitchen. "You've never had pets before?" she asked the Pontmercys, who looked quite astounded at these happenings.

"Grandfather wouldn't allow it," Marius said.

"Nor would Papa. Actually I wanted a puppy, he wouldn't let me. We did have cats in Picpus though," Cosette replied over the sound of the front hall door opening again.

Combeferre looked in the direction of the hallway. "Enjolras, Courfeyrac, you're far too early for supper," he called to his friends.

"That is the case for me but he's here for a consultation," Enjolras replied, gesturing to his companion.

"It's not me, it's about Paulette. She's in my room and not feeling well in the slightest," Courfeyrac said worriedly as he wrung out his sodden neckcloth. "The concierge has some ideas to help her, but I wanted your opinion."

"I can go see her at the soonest possible time, " Combeferre said, indicating the rain still pouring outside.

"We have a carriage. We can bring you there," Marius volunteered. "You're still at the Rue de la Verrerie, Courfeyrac?"

"Never left. The air there suits me better," Courfeyrac replied.

"By the way, the charter has already been approved," Enjolras said calmly as he took off his coat and his hat, though there was an undertone of satisfaction in his voice. "The vote came out to about 60 to 40."

Combeferre and Claudine exchanged knowing glances, Marius sighed, while Cosette merely shrugged. "Were you expecting more than that?" Eponine asked after a moment as she sat down.

"Yes, if only to say that it was won by an overwhelming majority and thus would be beyond contestation," Courfeyrac explained enthusiastically. "As it is though, it is a beginning, better than having yet another so-called Citizen King."

Enjolras smiled and clapped Courfeyrac on the shoulder lightly. Eponine, who'd managed to get back the kitten from Claudine, noticed this brief moment of mirth. ' _He looks so much better when he smiles that way,'_ she realized. Somehow she couldn't help but think that she liked him in this sort of mood, even with his hair sodden from rainwater and his clothes slightly in disarray. Perhaps it was even more comfortable than Theodule's suaveness.

She only managed to catch Enjolras' gaze just when the rest of their friends had already excused themselves to leave for the Rue de la Verrerie. "So what will happen next?" she asked.

"Aside from enforcing the charter? There might be another election soon," Enjolras said. "This time for actual legislative representatives from various cities and provinces."

"Including Paris?"

"Yes. More than one perhaps from the city. Ideally even some to represent workingmen of different industries, professionals, and even tenant farmers-not just residents and landowners."

Eponine retrieved the book she'd set aside and handed it to Enjolras. "Thank you for this. Now there are elections again, you'll be busy soon then. You haven't eaten here in two days, and I don't think you'll sleep anymore, what more can they make you do?"

"That is not certain. I have no intention of seeking an elected office. More importantly, I have to finish the review of Citizen Valjean's case, and even some other stories from Toulon at around that time," Enjolras replied as he finally took a seat near hers. "That will take time; the hearing might even be after the New Year."

Eponine cringed at this. "Are there really so many cases such that it can't be heard right away?"

"The revolution surprised the courts for a while so some matters were held up. Also the case is old, and the judges are less likely to prioritize it," Enjolras replied, placing his hands on the table.

"I'm sure you can tell them that they have to do something right away. You were a leader at the barricade and after!"

"At the barricade. Now that we have a proper government, there are rules that have to be followed."

The girl sighed on hearing this. ' _Nothing is simple anymore nowadays,'_ she thought as she rubbed the kitten's back. "I think you could do it. If there is one person in Paris who can, it's you. You believe in Citizen Valjean nearly as much as the Pontmercys do."

Enjolras smiled. "Thank you for saying that."

"Well it's the truth," Eponine said, getting to her feet while trying to keep her grip on the squirming cat. She already imagined that Azelma and the boys already had some outlandish suggestions for the feline's name. "Now I'd better go see what the boys are up to, while you change your clothes before Combeferre has to remind you to do so. Tonight though, may I please borrow another book?"

"Which one?"

"Anything by Rousseau that is easier to read?"

Enjolras paused, as if mentally reviewing what he had up in his room. "You could try ' _Emilie'_. If you want to know what else happens, or should happen in a Republic, you could read ' _The Social Contract'."_

"The second sounds more difficult," Eponine laughed. She noticed that Enjolras' hand had somehow ended up on her shoulder. "I s'pose I will read it soon anyway. I always like knowing what you're talking about every day."

"Sometimes it is more tiresome than you know," he remarked. He quickly slid his hand off her shoulder and looked down for a moment. Perhaps it was just the light, but it seemed to Eponine as if the young man's face had flushed slightly. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't keep you from seeing to your brothers," Enjolras said more firmly.

Eponine glanced upwards, listening for any footsteps or other signs of potential chaos. "I do not think they are up to any mischief yet."

"Yet. You know how children are."

Eponine bit her lip to keep from saying anything that would have Enjolras staying downstairs any longer, especially with all the water dripping from his clothes. "I will see you later," she added quickly before running upstairs. Even so, she couldn't help but look back, wondering how soon it would be till he followed.


	25. Chapter 25:  Last Summer's Misdeeds Become Known

_A/N: I'm back-and will be zipping out again till next week. But yes, I will update more regularly once I swing back into town. Thanks to talinxship for inspiration regarding the title._

**Chapter 25: In Which Last Summer's Misdeeds Become Known**

With the question of the charter finally settled, Enjolras' life finally resumed some semblance of a routine. He still found himself rising early, usually in time to share breakfast with either Combeferre or the Thenardier siblings. He spent much of his day preparing his notes on the Valjean case and other similar precedents to be reviewed, helping clarify implementing regulations for the ratified constitution, or doing paperwork on small cases he'd taken on in partnership with other lawyers. On many occasions he was able to finish up his work in time to join his friends for the evening repast, whether it was at a cafe or in someone's lodgings. Had Enjolras been a less wary man, he might have been lulled into believing that at last he had found a sort of lasting peace there in Paris.

' _Yet that isn't going to happen, not with the upcoming hearings and elections,'_ he thought one December evening as he sat at his tiny desk in the Hotel de Ville. He was going through his correspondence, including a letter that had just arrived from Aix:

_My dear Antoine,_

_Greetings and how have you been? You will be pleased to know that the charter has been well accepted in Aix; a few debates here and there, but none of the rioting that some of us were worried about. I hear though that the situation in Paris has not been as easy. How does it go, really?_

_I understand that you are so busy in Paris such that you have no time to spend the holidays with us in Aix. Yet I must remind you that you have not been home in so many months; you did not even spend last Christmas here. Please reconsider this plan of yours to stay in Paris for the New Year. You know that your father and I cannot make the long trip to Paris, not with the many things we have to deal with as far as your uncles, aunts, and cousins are concerned._

_You write a good deal about your friends, but you speak so little of what you yourself do outside of your work. Do you still practice your fencing and single sticks? Are you still eating well even with the hours you keep at your work? And indulge me for asking, has there ever been any young lady who has caught your fancy? Surely there must be someone-a neighbour, a friend of a friend? At your age-_

The young man groaned as he put the letter down. It had been some time since his mother had ever brought up his lack of a romantic involvement, but he felt that such queries could not have come at a worse occasion. ' _She's only wondering if she will ever have grandchildren,'_ he reminded himself as he smoothed out the creased missive with the pad of his thumb.

A knock sounded on the door. "Enjolras, are you still there?" Prouvaire's lilting voice asked.

"Yes-" Enjolras began before the poet barrelled into the room. The younger man's purple tailcoat was askew and the cockade he usually had in his hat was now torn to shreds. "What's happened, Jehan?" he asked worriedly as he guided his friend to a chair.

Prouvaire took a few moments to catch his breath. "A rather strong reaction to a verse some friends and I were reading, that's all."

"Exactly in what manner were you reading?" Enjolras asked cautiously. He knew enough of his friends to understand that sometimes it wasn't exactly their convictions or views per se that outraged their neighbours, but rather more of the form of presentation.

Prouvaire shrugged. "Walking up and down the Rue Clocheperce carrying skulls on pikes-"

Enjolras sighed deeply. "I understand that drama is necessary but perhaps it would do better to evoke a _different_ image of 1789?"

"It did produce some effect...not the desired one I understand but it is better than inertia."

"While terrible for your personal safety."

The poet nodded sheepishly. "Well hopefully you might find a reading of Dumas' latest venture to be less dangerous? He'll be over at Citizenness Doulcet's salon next week, at the Rue de Bac."

"I may have to be a little delayed; I have to submit a preliminary report to the court then, summarizing all these cases," Enjolras said, pointing to his papers.

"So much for that. Citizenness Doulcet's acquaintances have been waiting to talk with you regarding the upcoming legislature elections," Prouvaire pointed out. "For one, rumor has it you're returning to Aix to help lead the Courgarde?"

"Not in the foreseeable future. As for the Courgarde, they already have an established chain of leadership, which of course I have distanced myself from," Enjolras replied in a matter-of-fact tone. Aside from the fact that he had much work to do in Paris, he was confident that his comrades and old friends from Aix would have little trouble working with the reforms being instituted by the new government. ' _It may be where I begun, but I doubt I'll consider it home,'_ the thought occurred to him as he carefully folded his mother's letter and slipped it in his waistcoat pocket.

Prouvaire smiled with relief. "Good. We'd hate to see you summoned away. I don't know how long all of us will stay in Paris, now that many things have changed," he admitted.

"I believe we go where we are needed, but that does not mean we will not meet where we wish to meet," Enjolras replied, clasping Prouvaire's shoulder reassuringly. Partings would be inevitable, whether in the next months or in the more far-off future, but inwardly he liked to believe that some of them would still stay in touch. After clarifying with his friend the exact address of their gathering, Enjolras took his leave and headed back towards his home.

As he passed the alley right next to his home, something collided with the back of his head, sending him sprawling on the muddy ground. Through the haze of pain he felt himself being dragged into the alley, and he could see what appeared to be three pairs of muddy shoes in front of him.

"Told you this was him. He's the only one who could have done it," a strained, breathy voice said.

"The _tapissier's_ daughter didn't say anything," a more rumbling voice retorted.

"Because she's gone soft, and it's probably for him!" a third, but rather more familiar voice, snapped. "Besides there is the other one."

Enjolras tensed for a moment on feeling the cold chill of a knife's edge against his throat, but before his attacker could press the blade down, he grabbed the assailant's arm to wrest the weapon away. The attacker swore and struggled, giving Enjolras enough room to kick his feet out and send another man sprawling before he got to his feet. Before he could take another step though, someone grabbed him again, this time by his neck, and pinned him up against the wall of a nearby house.

"You didn't say this one would fight back, Montparnasse!" the first voice shouted irately. "Gueulemer, you have him, now finish the job!"

Enjolras' vision was starting to go dim around the edges but he still pushed against Gueulemer in an attempt to find enough leverage for him to get away from the wall. Before his vision went completely black he heard running footsteps and a voice yelling at the men. Gueulemer cursed before loosening his grip and letting his victim fall to the ground. Enjolras' throat felt as if it was on fire as he coughed and gasped for breath, but he was vaguely aware of a hurried argument happening somewhere nearby, followed by a loud scream for help, the sound of a fist meeting flesh and the crash of another body slamming against the wall.

He felt someone shake his shoulders frantically. "Enjolras! Wake up!" Eponine shouted.

"Wasn't-" he tried to say before pain stabbed through his throat again. He looked up and saw Eponine crouched next to him. Her hair was slightly dishevelled, her eyes were wide, and a red mark was rapidly forming on her right cheek.

"Can you stand up? I don't know if Combeferre is here now, but maybe Citizenness Leclair can help somehow," she rambled on as she grabbed his arm. "I can't believe it, to use a _lingre_ on you right here?"

"A _lingre?"_ He coughed and managed to get to his feet. He gestured to her cheek. "Did they-"

She shook her head. "Montparnasse's doing. He'd never use his _lingre_ , I mean knife, on me. No worry about Babet, he'd never hit a lady."

Enjolras wanted to ask more about that, but it hurt to speak again. Instead he let Eponine guide him back to the house and to a chair outside the concierge's lodge, which was locked. "Don't you move," Eponine said before rushing upstairs.

As Eponine's footsteps faded, Enjolras checked himself over. Aside from the bruises he was sure to have on his neck, he also had some cuts on his face and a nasty gash on his arm. ' _It probably wasn't Gueulemer who had that cudgel, otherwise I'd probably be dead,'_ he thought just as he saw Combeferre on the stairway.

"Good heavens, Enjolras, what has happened to you this time?" Combeferre asked as he went to his friend. "Wait, don't answer that just yet; I can imagine it hurts. You're lucky your neck isn't broken," he said as he began his examination.

Enjolras pointed to the back of his head, where he'd been hit. "No blood?" he asked.

"No, but there might be a nasty lump. I wouldn't go to sleep just yet if I were you," Combeferre said. He clucked his tongue on seeing the gash on Enjolras' arm. "We'll have to stitch that up, I'm sorry. I know you hate having to deal with that."

"It's necessary," Enjolras said, already feeling dread at the impending procedure. Although he knew that Combeferre had a gentle hand and was proficient with stitching up injuries, he still had that natural distaste for the idea of having a needle poked in his skin.

He turned as he heard Eponine rush down, looking more frantic than ever. "Azelma and the boys aren't around. I don't know where they could be and I know that she'd never take them out to dinner," Eponine said breathlessly. "She's probably taken them somewhere, to some friend of Magnon's!"

"Magnon?" Enjolras asked confusedly.

"She used to have my brothers with her. I think I might have mentioned that before. She's in Saint-Lazare now, since the Rue Clocheperce got raided."

Combeferre sighed deeply. "I'm sorry to hear that. Is there anything we can do?"

Eponine bit her lip. "I will look for them."

"Not at this hour," the doctor said.

She laughed bitterly. "I'm not so afraid of this dark you know, or what else might be in it. I used to wait for Citizen Pontmercy outside the Rue Plumet. I'd go on the old Boulevard Hospital where the _cognes_ could catch me. I always ran faster."

"Where would you begin?" Combeferre pointed out. "Have you got some stout thread in your room, Eponine? I need to stitch up Enjolras' wound since bandaging it simply will not suffice. That was a good knife Montparnasse had with him."

The girl bit her lip and nodded before dashing off upstairs again. Combeferre looked at Enjolras knowingly. "Of course it's just meant to keep her from doing something drastic once again," Combeferre said in an undertone.

"Perhaps but this time I think she does _know_ what she's doing," Enjolras said, wincing again at the raw feeling in his throat. He knew that Eponine's search would probably be in a roundabout or weltering fashion, but it would produce results nonetheless. ' _Feuilly and Bahorel can help her here, they also know their way about,'_ he thought as he saw her run down the stairs again, carrying some thread. He watched with bated breath as Combeferre cleaned the string and threaded a needle.

"As always, keep still," Combeferre warned Enjolras. "On second thought, Eponine, please hold his arm down. It would make it faster."

"A man like you, scared of a small thing like a needle?" Eponine teased even as she lightly grabbed Enjolras' wrist. For a moment it occurred to Enjolras that she wasn't actually holding him down, not till he felt one of her fingernails digging into his skin. He scowled at her but she signed for him to keep still. It was all he could do to look away as he felt the familiar sensation of Combeferre's needle poking into his skin, followed by the pull of the thread. At least Eponine's hand around his wrist distracted him somewhat from this otherwise uncomfortable scenario.

"There, I have it done. Please hold this cloth down over the wound," Combeferre instructed Eponine as he knotted off and cut the suture, leaving five snug stitches in the wound. "Don't stop pressing till the bleeding stops."

"Will he have those strings in there forever?" Eponine asked.

"I'll have to cut them out when the wound heals," Combeferre said. "It shouldn't be long," he added before going off to clean his instruments.

After a few moments Enjolras heard Eponine tapping her feet, as she sometimes did when she was impatient. Before he could reprimand her, he saw that she was looking at him with a questioning, almost disbelieving expression. "By the way, thank you for helping me," he said, hoping to break the awkward silence.

She bit her lip. "They told me you killed Claquesous," she said hollowly.

"Claquesous?" He could not remember any such name among those fighters at the Rue de la Chanvrerie. "Part of Patron-Minette?"

She nodded. "I knew him, somehow. You must have seen him die. Was it you?"

' _That porter though, the one who shot at that old man..."_ he recalled after a moment. "I had to."

"Why?"

"He killed an innocent man. There was a doorkeeper who refused to open a house nearby. Le Cabuc-that was how he introduced himself-simply fired on him." He realized that Eponine was still silent, her face somewhere between horror and dismay. "I couldn't allow that sort of action at the barricade, so I had to execute him."

She let go of his wrist. "So you murdered him, over that?"

"Executed. He was no innocent."

She laughed bitterly. "So you'd give me a bit of a chance, but not him?" she retorted before picking up her shawl and heading to the door.

Enjolras stared after her in surprise. "Where are you going?"

"I have to find my brothers. And I'm not afraid," she snapped before slamming the door.

' _She's going to get herself into some sort of trouble!'_ he thought as he went out after her. "Where will you start? You cannot possibly go through all of Paris in one night!" he asked as he tried to get in front of her.

"I don't know but I simply have to try!" she yelled as she pushed him away. She stepped back and took a deep breath before speaking again, but more softly. "Enjolras...you shouldn't follow me. They have come after you, and they...the others, won't be happy to see you."

"By this time, the same might be true for you," he pointed out. He suspected that Eponine's recent upturns in life would not be so well received by her former friends. "You have to go to the Prefecture—"

"And they will put Azelma in Les Madelonttes, and where will that bring us?" Eponine shot back. "You'd better cover up your neck, Enjolras, those bruises there look awful," she added breathlessly before turning to run.

"Eponine, wait!" he shouted but she had gone around the corner. He followed her in time to see her push past a line of fiacres and cross the street before hurrying down an alley. When he finally crossed towards the alley, he saw that she was gone from sight, as if she had melted right into the shadows.

' _So much for her being sensible,'_ he thought irately as he looked around but saw no sign of her. He thought he heard something clang in the alley but he saw it was just another stray cat. He gritted his teeth as he walked back to his apartment, knowing that it was futile now to search for her and that going to the Prefecture was out of the question until he could get more of the particulars of the matter.

Combeferre met him at the door. Judging from his grave expression, there was no need to ask how much of the argument he'd heard. "I doubt she can get very far at this hour," he said reassuringly as he picked up a clean cloth to continue putting pressure on the wound on Enjolras' arm. "She'll probably be back soon."

"I'm not entirely sure about that," Enjolras pointed out, remembering all of Eponine's excursions to the Marais. ' _Especially since her care for her brothers is probably more compelling than whatever she had for Marius,'_ he realized. He was not about to speculate how matters would play out between Eponine and Azelma once the two chanced to talk again, if ever.

Combeferre shrugged. "Of course you cannot expect any friend of Claquesous to receive that sort of news well," he said.

"I'm not proud of what I did," Enjolras said. The idea of a necessary evil was like bile in his throat nowadays, but he could not see any other way for that particular scenario to have concluded. "I'm surprised though that it took Patron-Minette this long to figure it out."

"No use trying to ferret that out now though," Combeferre replied. "But this business with the Thenardier boys and Magnon, we cannot let this simply slip past."

' _Short of shaking the truth out of Azelma, we're still in the dark on this,'_ Enjolras realized grimly. "Eponine will have news when she returns," he said.

"I hope she'll be in a better state than you are," Combeferre pointed out, checking the now dry wound. "You have to be careful with that arm for the next week or so, to lessen the risk of it suppurating."

"Understood," Enjolras said before letting Combeferre dress the wound with another clean cloth. After this he went to the kitchen for some bread before going upstairs to finish some reading while Combeferre took his leave in order to report for another night shift at the Necker.

It must have been hours later when Enjolras heard some impatient meowing from the Thenardiers' side of the hall. ' _I forgot about the cat,'_ he thought as he went to let out the feline. As he had suspected, Eponine had left the door unlocked, so he had no trouble with this task. The slender cat, who had somehow acquired the name 'Camille', yowled up at him and stretched on the floor.

"Go on downstairs. You won't want to be up here when your mistresses get back," he said, ushering the animal in the general direction of the kitchen. Camille meowed again, this time in protest, before springing right on Enjolras' shoes.

A step sounded on the stairs. "How does a statue talk to a cat?" Gavroche asked.

Enjolras rolled his eyes at the boy's quip. "He hasn't been fed. You'd best take charge of him. Where are your sisters?"

"Waking up the street," Gavroche said, gesturing towards the sound of arguing in the front hall. "Azelma has given the _momes_ to another English friend. Not to Mamselle Miss, but another stouter friend of hers," he added in a worried voice.

"Where?"

"Azelma said that Panchaud won't give her the address. It was all by _postillon_ , so there's not much use in finding that letter."

"But we'll find them," Enjolras said adamantly. He didn't want to make any promises with regard to this matter, but he knew that he and his friends would do their best to help the older Thenardiers. He picked up the cat and handed it to Gavroche, who lost no time in running downstairs in time to meet Azelma halfway on the stairs. The girl swore at him and nearly shoved him down but at the last moment relented before running up to her room, pausing only to mumble a 'Good evening' at Enjolras before slamming the door.

A few moments after, Eponine walked into the hall, her face flushed with fury. "I can't believe it! She had the nerve to hand me this!" she hissed, throwing a bag on the floor. "All of it in five franc notes, good for how many months. She did it without asking me, without even _knowing_ who the woman really was! .I can't believe she'd be so stupid!"

Enjolras picked up the bag of money. "You plan on giving this back, I hope?"

Eponine nodded furiously. "I have to, don't I? I might have to give more if I want Neville and Jacques back. I don't know how I'll do it." She looked at her door and bit her lip. "I can't stand to see her."

"Did she ever say why she did it?" Enjolras inquired.

"Because we needed the money, like we did when Maman gave the boys to Magnon. That was different. We had nothing. Now I work, Azelma can work if she wanted to, and we have a good room, and I can take care of the boys properly..." she trailed off before biting her lip again. "The money is a lot, it's good, but it's not...you know what I mean."

"You mean to say, what should be done?" Enjolras finished.

She nodded. "I s'pose I'd say it differently." She glanced again at her room. "I'd love to shake Zelma out of bed, but that would awake the neighbourhood if we started screaming again."

' _Unfortunately the neighbourhood is already awake,'_ Enjolras wanted to say but he checked his tongue. "We'll start looking for your brothers tomorrow."

"We?" She shook her head. "Oh no. Not you, Combeferre, and the rest! They'd kill you."

"You think you're the only one who knows your way about?"

"You're bourgeoisie! Not Feuilly, but still he's different!"

Enjolras smirked, knowing better than to reveal his friend's past. "Feuilly and Bahorel know people. So do I, but yes, my connections are more tenacious at times. Still it is better than nothing."

Eponine sighed resignedly. "At least they are still in Paris. They can't go very far."

"For now," Enjolras said. He knew that he and Eponine were in need of rest, but there was still a matter that weighed heavily on him. "About Claquesous-"

"Oh him? I knew him, but he was no good friend of mine. You won't want to know why," Eponine said, sounding ashamed. "I was angry you know, it's never nice to know that someone you know is dead by any way. I just didn't think that you of all people would kill him."

"You know I have been at the barricades, twice. I'm far from an innocent too," he pointed out. "So yes, you are justified in being furious."

She snorted. "You're different. You...well I don't think you've ever robbed a house or had to do with a girl like me in an alley."

"Not those things in particular, but I've had to deceive people and do other things, out of necessity."

"Because you had no choice, like I did. That doesn't make us very much different."

"In a way," Enjolras said firmly. He noticed Eponine yawning and he steadied her with a hand on her shoulder. There was no point now in continuing such a convoluted discussion. "You'd better get some rest. Tomorrow may be a long day."

"I s'pose. Good night, Enjolras," the girl said with a half-hearted smile.

Enjolras waited for a moment to make sure that no signs of conflict broke out in the Thenardiers' room before he retreated to his own quarters. " _First to Prouvaire's, then to Feuilly's atelier to ask for help, then to the Marais again,'_ he thought. Perhaps he and his poet friend would be able to learn enough English to be able to make the necessary inquiries in time to save Neville and Jacques.


	26. Chapter 26: The Difference of 2 Hours

_A/N: I'm back!_

**Chapter 26: The Difference of a Couple of Hours**

For the first time in a number of weeks, Eponine did not wait for her siblings to wake up before rushing through her preparations for the day. ' _Maybe today I'll find them,'_ she told herself repeatedly as she put on the first clean dress she could find. "Don't you follow me out the door; I haven't the time to deal with you," she said to the cat, who was watching her intently. Time was of the essence today if she wanted to see her brothers again, but even so she had no idea where to begin.

As soon as she was fully dressed, she tiptoed out of her quarters and stopped outside Enjolras' room. ' _What can you possibly say to him?'_ she wondered as she fiddled with the edge of her shawl. The fact that Enjolras had been Claquesous' murderer filled her with a chill more deathly than that of the December weather. Claquesous had been a formidable man, one who the police could not even keep in their grip. It was not difficult, but all the same disconcerting to imagine Enjolras' physical strength and mettle pitted against Claquesous'. She bit her lip, trying to reconcile this with everything else she now knew about him, such as the young man she'd saved the night before, who lent her books and sat with her at the kitchen table. ' _How can such a thing be possible?'_

In the end of it all, one fact still stood out. ' _He's one of the people who can help you,'_ she told herself as she took a deep breath and knocked twice on his door. "Enjolras?" she called, wondering if he was already awake."Enjolras!" she shouted louder as she tried the knob but found the door locked. ' _I s'pose if I called him by the name his mother gave him, he would wake up,'_ she thought before trying the door one last time and then hurrying downstairs.

The concierge, Citizenness LeClair, met her at the door. "If you're looking for Citizen Enjolras, he's gone out early today," the matron said.

"To where?" Eponine asked worriedly.

"I don't know. Didn't even get his usual coffee," the concierge replied with a shrug. "There's still some in the kettle if you want it."

The girl shook her head, not even trying to hide her disappointment. "I'm in a hurry but thank you anyway," she said before adjusting her shawl and running out the door. Even though the sun had yet to rise over the rooftops of the Latin Quartier, Eponine had no trouble making her way to her destination. After all she'd been on enough secret errands to Saint-Lazare to know all the back routes to the place.

' _Unless they've moved her, she should still be near the west wall,'_ she thought as she raced over to a more shadowed part of the prison's perimeter wall. She gathered up two pebbles and tossed them towards the grilles. " _Icacaile!_ Magnon!' she called.

After a few moments she saw the fluttering of a kerchief in one of the windows. "Where is your _daron_?" the low voice of a woman asked.

"I have nothing to do with him," Eponine said sternly, hugging her shawl to herself.

"Then why are you here?"

"Where is Mamselle Miss?"

The prisoner in the window stilled. "She is asleep."

"I _know_ she's not!" Eponine stepped closer to the wall. "I'll give you several sous, it's good for a postillon or something."

"I know what you came for," Magnon said with a wry chuckle. "You aren't getting them back."

"Zelma did it without my asking. They may be _momes_ but they are my brothers," Eponine said. She cleared her throat again. "Where are they?"

"The money first."

Eponine nodded as she fumbled for her purse, where she kept her wages. She slipped some coins into her glove, just enough for the rest of the day, before tying the purse to a string that Magnon had let down. After a few moments she saw a small square of fabric tumble through the air and she reached out to catch her now empty purse. "Where?' she asked again.

"Hannah Allen. She's at the Faubourg Saint-Antoine."

"I need an address!"

"You need to give more," Magnon snapped. "Go away before the guards find you."

Eponine cursed as she saw the kerchief disappear from the window. "Magnon, wait!" she yelled but at that moment she caught sight of the wardens approaching the wall. She quickly pressed herself in the nearest hollow she could find, willing herself to move or breathe as little as possible. ' _If they find me here I'll be in the jug again for sure!'_ she thought as she watched the patrol look up and down the street. She crouched and curled up, nearly sitting in the dirt in an attempt not to be seen. It seemed hours till the patrol finally passed, leaving her to get to her feet unnoticed.

When she looked up at the window, she saw that it was empty. ' _It's a name and a faubourg, better than nothing,'_ she thought as she gritted her teeth. She smoothed out her crumpled up clothing and ran her hands through her hair before finally heading in the direction of the bookshop. Hopefully Ravigard would have a book or two there that could assist her in her search.

When she arrived at her workplace, Eponine saw that Ravigard was busy with the shop's account books. After making sure she would remain unnoticed, she quietly made her way to the section of the store that stocked up lexicons of various languages. She could not imagine a person who would have had time to create such volumes, but today she was grateful that someone had taken the effort. ' _Now if only to learn to speak the language so I can actually deal with the Englishwoman who has my brothers, if she is really an Englishwoman,"_ she thought as she perused one of the lighter dictionaries.

The words were far too hard on her tongue even when she tried enunciating them in soft whispers. Now disgusted, she slammed the book shut at the same moment the shop door clattered open. "Why, you're learning English now, Eponine?" Paulette asked by way of greeting as she swept into the room.

"I have to," Eponine said, managing a smile. It had been some time since she'd seen her friend, given the latter's delicate condition. "How have you been Paulette?"

"Better. Though this one is making _his_ presence known," Paulette said, patting the slight bulge of her belly, which her thick blue dress could no longer conceal. "I just came here for an extra copy of a pamphlet, not by De Gouges but the one by that other lady, Wollenstonecraft. I think there's been a fresh translation."

Eponine frowned, recognizing the name of the writer. "Again, another of the English."

"If you want to know the language I think Citizen Pontmercy can help. Maurice said so."

"Perhaps someone else? I do not wish to trouble him."

"Do what you will," Paulette said, perusing some of the other books on the counter. She frowned as she tugged at her waistline. "I'll have to let this out soon, and all my other clothes. And then it won't be long till I won't be fit to be seen in public for a while."

' _How did Maman ever manage?'_ Eponine wondered silently but she did manage a sympathetic nod. "I suspect you will be receiving friends a lot at the Rue de la Verrerie then?" she asked.

"If I feel well," Paulette said. "I surely wouldn't want to be _extremely_ confined-" she added just as Ravigard passed close by the counter. The older grisette reddened, clearly embarrassed at having been caught talking about such an 'indelicate' matter but she quickly regained her composure. "You ought to visit. Bring your brothers too."

' _If I can find them,'_ Eponine thought but she bit her lip and busied herself with seeking out the volume that her friend came for. "Have you ever tried to learn another language?" she asked after a moment.

Paulette fiddled with one of the pins that held up her hair. "I know only the Latin for the Mass, and even that not very well. You know I haven't much time or the head for it like Claudine has. Besides what other language could I possibly try?" She laughed as she passed an English book to Eponine. "You go on and tell me how you enjoy it so maybe I could attempt it one day."

Eponine merely smiled as she opened the book and flipped through some pages before setting it down to continue helping out Paulette. She wondered if Paulette and Courfeyrac ever read through various books together or talked about things the way that Joly and Musichetta, or that Combeferre and Claudine did. ' _Maybe the way Enjolras and I do?'_ the thought occurred to her before she had to pinch herself several times.

"I heard from Chetta that you've been reading Rousseau?" Paulette asked after a while.

"I've borrowed some books—most of them from Enjolras, but one from her," Eponine replied in a matter-of-fact fashion. Getting through 'The Social Contract' had been nearly as difficult as finishing 'A Discourse on Inequality'; but thankfully her attempts to improve her vocabulary were beginning to serve her well and make such reading easier. Following this, she'd gotten through 'Emilie', and 'Julie', two books that posed a different sort of challenge. The latter novel was the one she'd borrowed from Musichetta; she guessed that Enjolras did not have that particular book in his collection, owing mainly to its more romantic content. ' _Even if he did, I'd never be able to ask if he could lend it,'_ she thought, hoping that her cheeks didn't color at the recollection of the rather potent prose.

Paulette grinned at her. "So you'll one day find your Saint-Preux? That was his name, wasn't it?"

"Where would I start?" Eponine quipped.

"Next door-" Paulette said in a mischievous tone before Ravigard cleared his throat. The older grisette rolled her eyes at the shopkeeper before looking at Eponine again. "All I'm saying is that you never know where he might be!"

"Perhaps, but me in a romance? You may as well tell a man he can fly," Eponine said as she handed over some more books to her friend. She waited for Paulette to leave with her acquisitions before snatching up yet another book to continue her attempts at learning English.

Ravigard scowled disapprovingly before dropping a pile of half-mended books on Eponine's workspace. "See to these first, and then you can go back to your reading. I know you are curious, Citizenness, but this is a bookshop and not a library."

"I need to read this so I can find my brothers."

"Aren't they at school?"

"Not today," Eponine replied, not sure how to explain her situation. "It's urgent, Citizen—"

"The sooner you finish your work, the sooner you can get back to your reading," Ravigard said sternly, picking up the English books that Eponine had been inadvertently stacking up.

Eponine gritted her teeth as she picked up one of the books she was supposed to repair and then searched about for a needle and stout thread. Despite all her attempts to remain focused on this tedious task, she found herself continually interrupted by customers and in one case a delivery of pamphlets that were still damp from the printers. As it was, it was already past noon when she finally put the final stitch in the last book in the stack.

Before she could reach for one of the dictionaries, the shop door clattered open again. "Citizen Prouvaire, I told you she'd still be here," Azelma said boisterously. "Eponine, see who I have with me!"

"Even if I'd been blind I would have known," Eponine said dryly, still feeling the bile in her throat on hearing her sister's voice. "What are you both doing here?"

"I'm here to see to some new plays," Prouvaire said before waving cheerily at Ravigard. He placed one hand on the counter, near Eponine's palm. "Take a look at it," he said surreptitiously before Azelma half-dragged him to another corner of the shop.

Eponine raised an eyebrow as she got a look at the note that the poet had dropped. " _Palais de Justice at 2 in the afternoon-Enjolras."_ She picked up one of the books she'd repaired on the pretext of returning it to the shelf. "Prouvaire, what _have_ you been doing all day?" she called to her friend.

"Speaking to some old friends," Prouvaire replied over his shoulder from where he and Azelma were perusing some poetry.

"Aside from Enjolras."

Prouvaire nodded before making a quick excuse to Azelma. He followed Eponine to another corner. "One of Combeferre's teachers at the medical school used to be a surgeon for the English navy during Bonaparte's day. He's mostly retired now, but he still knows his way about," he whispered.

"Even about Englishwomen who enter Pantin?" Eponine asked.

"A little about that," Prouvaire replied. "Some of the English who are here in Paris come to him for help a lot of the time. Even those who prefer not to be named."

She nodded slowly. "I didn't know you could speak English."

"No, and nor can Enjolras. Combeferre can barely manage it either. The doctor definitely knows his French. He's a naturalist and a musician; he plays the cello," Prouvaire said with a shrug. He glanced over his shoulder again. "Anyway I have to take your sister to the Luxembourg later like I promised-"

"You know that you can't trust her!" Eponine blurted out.

A slight smile spread over Prouvaire's face. "Someone has to."

"Why?"

Prouvaire mumbled something about 'Don Quixote' and 'Aldonza' before quickly returning to where Azelma was now sitting on the floor with a large poetry book in her lap. Eponine shook her head before returning to the counter. ' _Does he even know what he is doing?'_ she wondered, making sure to hide behind the first dictionary she picked up. Try as she may, she could not hear what Azelma and Prouvaire were talking about, but judging from her sister's nods and even laughter, it seemed as if Azelma was actually enjoying the conversation. ' _Maybe Azelma isn't even thinking about dresses or officers,'_ she thought. It was something more fun to imagine, if only to be less acrimonious to Azelma when she and Prouvaire finally left the shop.

After a little persuasion she was able to get permission to leave work early so she could go to the Palais de Justice. She arrived there just when Enjolras was leaving the building. Eponine felt her breath catch and her mouth go dry at the sight of him looking so calm and unruffled despite the events of the night before. She noticed that he'd tied his cravat differently today, perhaps to hide the bruises on his neck. "Prouvaire gave me your note," she said to him by way of greeting. "Is your neck still bothering you?"

"Not very much," Enjolras replied. "I made some inquiries and it's probable that your brothers were taken to the Fauborg Saint-Antoine."

"That's exactly what Magnon also said to me," Eponine informed him. "I didn't find out exactly where they'd be but I don't have an address."

"Feuilly said he'd meet us at the fauborg and help us out," Enjolras said.

Eponine raised an eyebrow. "Doesn't he have work?"

"Yes but he was willing to take some time off to help out."

She nodded, wondering if she should bring up what was on her mind. Of all her friends, only Enjolras and Feuilly were reluctant to detail their pasts, and so she could not help but be resigned to conjectures or eavesdropping to fill in the gaps. "He was a _gamin_ once, wasn't he? He knows a bit of argot, and he knows his way about."

"He was, but not here in Paris. He was actually born in Marseille."

"Marseille is all the way in the south. How could he ever go so far?"

"He has quite the story, but you should ask him more about it instead of hearing it from me," Enjolras pointed out as they began walking towards where an omnibus was just about to stop.

"In the meantime, could you tell me yours then?" Eponine asked. "All you've told me is that you're from Aix, you have no brothers or sisters, and that you used to work with the Courgarde. Combeferre told me you came here when you were about eighteen, some time after passing the bac, and that was how you met Courfeyrac and Prouvaire."

Enjolras looked at her quizzically. "You remember."

"But that's all. You never said much else, like the reason you came all the way here to Paris," she said as they both got on the omnibus and found seats near the rear.

"My parents wanted me to take up law here."

"They sent you away?" She had first heard of such a thing from Courfeyrac; in fact it was common knowledge that Courfeyrac's parents didn't quite know what he was up to, especially with regard to the details of his life with Paulette. She was sure the same had to be true for some of the other members of the Amis del'ABC, except for Bahorel and Feuilly. "I'm sure you argued a lot."

Enjolras shook his head. "On the contrary my parents and I get along rather well. It was actually Father who first introduced me to Robespierre's work."

"And also taught you how to sing _Ca Ira?"_

"Actually that was my cousins' doing, but I have heard my father whistle it too," Enjolras said as a small smile crossed his face. "Aix was a good place to grow up in, but there are far more things happening in Paris. More opinions, more people."

"It only happens because everyone thinks that way, so everyone goes here to the city," Eponine pointed out. She bit her lip, wondering if she would have left Montfermeil if she had any say in the matter years before. As the omnibus went over a rough spot in the road she nearly grabbed Enjolras' arm but remembered at the last moment that he also had an injury there. She held on to his wrist instead, and then after a moment she slipped her fingers around his.

He looked down at their hands and raised his eyebrows before disentangling their fingers. "Come on, we're almost there," he said as the omnibus slowed down. "There's Feuilly," he added, gesturing to where the fanmaker was chatting to a prettily dressed grisette.

Feuilly signed for Eponine and Enjolras to come nearer. "Friends, I'd like you to meet Citizenness Torres. Leonor, let me _finally_ introduce Citizen Enjolras and Citizenness Thenardier."

Eponine couldn't help but notice that Leonor, despite being rather pretty with her deep-set eyes and raven hair, was not only olive-skinned but also had a bit of an odd, square line to her jaw. "You're not from France, are you?" she asked the other girl.

"My father wasn't," Leonor answered curtly. "I was born in Bayonne and I lived for a while in Toulon."

Feuilly sighed before murmuring something to Leonor which seemed to mollify her. "Bayonne is in the south of France too, close to the border of Spain. It just happens that Leonor's father is from the town of Bilbao, which is in fact in Spain," Feuilly explained to Eponine.

Leonor nodded before saying something that sounded like differently accented French to Eponine's ears. "You don't understand Occitan, do you?" she finally asked Eponine after a while.

Eponine shook her head. "They speak it, I don't," she said, gesturing to the young men. While for the most part her friends spoke proper French especially when her younger brothers were around, she had heard them occasionally lapse into the more sibilant dialects of the Midi. Normally she didn't pay much heed to it, but today she felt embarrassed at her inability to understand what was going on.

"I know that Occitan is convenient but we must stick to French for the time being," Enjolras advised Feuilly and Leonor. "We have no time for translations into our respective _patois_."

Eponine gave him a look of relief. "So will you be coming with us?" she asked Leonor.

Leonor began to answer in Occitan before stopping in mid-sentence. "I was just about to go, but I already told Feuilly where you ought to go," she said in French. "You walk to the Place de la Bastille, and turn right, and then left. There is an old house there belonging to Citizen Arendt, but I believe that you are more interested in one of his tenants, Citizenness Allen?"

"That is the name. Does she know any French?" Eponine asked.

"Very little, and very bad at that. You might be able to speak English with her though."

"How do you know this?" Enjolras asked.

"Former neighbours of mine," Leonor answered. "We never got on well."

Feuilly gave her a sideways look. "A very diplomatic way of saying it."

"It's too early in the day to be offensive," she said sweetly. She kissed Feuilly's cheek before saying something to him again in Occitan and then hurrying off back towards a bookshop.

Eponine gaped at Feuilly. "Do you ever argue with her?"

"We pick our battles," Feuilly quipped as they began walking.

Eponine smirked, trying not to picture an argument between her friend and this lady. " _I just wish she didn't keep speaking Occitan_ ," she thought. "It's a good thing you came from Marseille, or you wouldn't be able to understand her."

Feuilly raised an eyebrow. "It wouldn't matter."

"You don't like mentioning Marseille," Eponine remarked. "I think I know why."

"You have heard I'm an orphan," Feuilly said before biting the inside of his cheek. "For a while I lived by the docks till one of the older boys told me how I could get to Paris."

Eponine swallowed hard, having heard something before of the horrors of dockside life. "So how did you learn to make fans?"

"Here in Paris. Someone took me in. It helped that I've always liked sketching." Feuilly stuck his hands in his coat pockets. "It was long ago, Eponine. The world has changed a good deal since then."

' _Not entirely for me,'_ Eponine wanted to say but she simply nodded as she let Feuilly walk ahead to speak with Enjolras about something. There would be no peace for as long she had to worry about Azelma. ' _I wonder how Prouvaire is managing with her today,'_ she thought as she walked faster to keep up with them. She realized that the young men were studying what appeared to be a list of phrases. "You're trying to learn English too?" she asked.

"It might help," Enjolras said. "Pontmercy had some ideas as to what phrases would be best to use and understand, just so Citizenness Allen cannot confuse us so easily."

"Can you actually speak it?" Eponine asked.

Feuilly shrugged. "He is worse than me," he said, gesturing to Enjolras. "You might even be better."

Eponine laughed before picking up the paper. " _Hello, may we please see—Miss Allen?"_ she read out. "It does not sound nice at all."

"But more intelligible than I can manage it," Enjolras pointed out.

Feuilly chuckled before stopping in his tracks. "This has to be the place," he said, gesturing to a ramshackle house. "There is a sign here, looking for boarders," he said, pointing to a faded and wrinkled sheet of paper.

Eponine swallowed hard on seeing the house; it was a tall building with broken windows. In a way it reminded her of the Gorbeau tenement. "Maybe it needs more than lodgers," she said as she walked up to the door. She touched the knob lightly and to her surprise the door swung open. "Anyone home?' she called in French, but the only reply she got was a thick silence.

She felt Enjolras' hand on her shoulder and she looked up to see his grim expression. "Something isn't right," he said as he opened the door wider and stepped in. After a moment he turned around and shook his head. "Eponine, get the gendarmes. There's a dead man in here."

The mention of a corpse was enough to make Eponine's stomach lurch but she willed herself not to back out of the house. "No, I have to find my brothers," she said, stepping past him and running up the stairs. "Neville! Jacques!" she shouted as she ran through the narrow second floor corridor, knocking on doors and throwing them open if she found them unlocked.

She finally came to a half-open door at the end of the hall. She peered in the room and caught sight of a piece of brown cloth draped over a half-rotted away bedpost. Aside from this, there was no other sign that the room had been recently occupied. She slipped into the room and unwound the scarf carefully from the wood. Even in the dim light of the room, she could recognize the garment as having belonged to her brother Neville. ' _It's so cold now, what will he do without it?'_ she thought as she clutched the scarf more tightly before hurrying back downstairs to where Enjolras and Feuilly were now talking to some bystanders and an inspector.

"Citizenness Allen left with the boys two hours ago. Some people saw them leave," Enjolras said when he saw her.

Eponine bit her lip as she sat on the stairway. "Did anyone find out to where?"

"Not a word. And well, we could have asked Citizen Arendt except for the fact that he is..." the inspector chimed in before gesturing to the corpse on the floor. "So those boys were not Citizenness Allen's sons?" he asked no one in particular.

"They are my brothers," Eponine replied hollowly. She knotted a loose thread in the scarf in an attempt to stop it from unravelling. ' _They could be anywhere by now. You'll never find them, not in time for Christmas,'_ she realized as she bit her lip again.

"If they have gone by diligence, we might be able to find from where they left," Enjolras suggested.

"If being the word. There are many other ways to leave Paris," Feuilly pointed out.

' _I'm never forgiving Azelma for this,'_ Eponine resolved silently. "Where would an Englishwoman take them?" she wondered. All the ideas that ran through her mind made her shiver; she could not imagine her brothers enduring some of the things she had, especially now that winter was nearly upon them. She looked up at Enjolras and saw that his expression was also grim; perhaps he was thinking the same things she was. "I'm not going to stop looking," she said to him.

"I know you won't," he said. He reached out to help her to her feet. "Wait for me and Feuilly outside. We'll just answer a few questions," he instructed.

"Enjolras, I have seen a dead man before."

"Yes, but you need not linger if you don't want to."

She nodded before stepping outside of the house. Once there she took several deep breaths, taking small comfort in the much-needed air. She threw her brother's scarf over her shawl and knotted it, unwilling to lose anything more to the rising breeze.


	27. Chapter 27: Company High and Below

_A/N: Spot the cameos here!_

**Chapter 27:** **Company High and Below**

"It's been a week. They could be anywhere by now."

"That doesn't preclude the possibility that they could still be in Paris."

Grantaire cracked his knuckles before looking straight at Enjolras. "Hidden in plain sight under different names? You will need powers of a different sort to continue your search then."

"Grantaire, it's not the time in the day for mythological allusions," Enjolras said, not hiding his irritation. He had not been expecting this mid-afternoon chat with Grantaire, who'd dropped by the Hotel de Ville on some errand for a journalist. Even when half-sober, the man was still far too prone to rambling. "If you have a practical suggestion, you are welcome to share it."

"I do have a practical suggestion," Grantaire countered, placing his hands on the edge of Enjolras' desk. "Gavroche still has friends out there, like that boy Bernard Avril."

"Bernard Avril?"

"Navet. He gets into places; surely he can help you pinpoint the whereabouts of Neville and Jacques. He and his friends have more eyes than the Surete. You told me yourself about how Gavroche found the spy at the barricade."

Enjolras rubbed his temples as he contemplated the drunkard's suggestion. "There are already two children in peril. I'm not about to endanger any more. The fact that this situation coincides with the murder of Citizen Arendt means we all have to tread carefully," he pointed out.

Grantaire sighed as he leaned back in his seat. "Then that means you will have to be Janus with eyes forward and backward."

"Don't you have work to do today, Grantaire?"

"Work but I prefer my other obligations first," Grantaire said as he got up obligingly. He adjusted his cravat before taking a few steps towards the door. "Speaking of obligations, Combeferre mentioned you are expected at the salon at the Rue de Bac tonight. Talk has it that Citizenness Doulcet will not proceed without you there."

"I am only there to listen to Dumas and to speak to some other acquaintances," Enjolras answered. "On political matters," he added, noticing the teasing expression beginning to form on Grantaire's face. He was not only impatient when it came to the chatter in salons, but he was also keenly aware of the usually very _select_ society in these rooms. _'Citizenness Doulcet surely invited Lafayette but perhaps that is as far as she is willing to go in terms of political color,'_ he mused. His comrades such as Charles Jeanne or even many of the Amis and their lady friends would not be received in such a meeting.

"You may very well steal the thunder from poor Dumas. Very well then, adieu," Grantaire said cheerily before making his exit, leaving Enjolras to clean away the mud that his friend had accidentally tracked in.

' _One task and then another,'_ the young lawyer groused as he contemplated the ever-increasing pile of work on his table. He had finally submitted the papers related to the case of Jean Valjean and various precedents from Toulon, but the absence of these documents was soon filled in by various lists and sundry from other more trifling cases, as well as notes relating to the disappearance of the young Thenardiers. ' _We've checked the records on the diligences, asked at the barrieres, even checked the hospitals and lodging houses,'_ he thought grimly. Gavroche and Bossuet had even gone so far two days ago as to suggest searching the sewers, but Eponine had quickly vetoed the suggestion, pointing out that if the boys were that deep in Pantin, there was no hope of retrieving them without someone else being reduced to a corpse floating in the Seine. Enjolras willed himself not to imagine the two children huddled in the sewers, trying to stay above the filth.

Hours later, as he was departing from the Hotel de Ville, he heard a distinctly feminine voice call his name. He turned to see Eponine running up to him. "I've missed the omnibus, haven't I?" she asked him by way of greeting.

"It hasn't passed by yet, so perhaps it is delayed," he answered. He saw that she was wearing a fancy maroon dress and she had a tricolor ribbon in her hair. "Where are you headed to?"

"The Rue de Bac," she said with a grin. "You have heard of the Doulcets' salon, haven't you? Prouvaire and Combeferre said you'd be there, and they are coming too. I don't exactly have an invitation from Citizenness Doulcet, but she told Prouvaire that he could bring a friend and since Azelma said she didn't want to come, he asked if I could accompany him all the same."

"I see. Where is Prouvaire though?" Enjolras said, not hiding his slight amusement at the girl's rambling. While he technically would have also been given the privilege of bringing a guest with him—guest meaning lady friend or mistress-it didn't quite occur to him to ask if Eponine was interested in attending. He wasn't sure why he regretted not thinking of it.

Eponine paused to catch her breath even as they boarded an omnibus. "He's with Combeferre, visiting that doctor friend of his. Dr. Maturin, if I remember. That doctor is so, so old; he was sailing already when that Lord Nelson of the English destroyed Bonaparte's ships, in 1805 I think?"

"Yes it was that year."

"Neither of us was born then," Eponine remarked. "I'm not sure if I would have wanted to be alive in those days, but I think you would have liked 1789 and the tearing down of the Bastille."

"In some ways," Enjolras agreed. He knew that the Revolution had its flaws but he still longed for the glory of it anyway. Now that he was sitting closer to Eponine, he saw that she seemed rather weary and drawn despite her earlier enthusiasm. Her eyes were bright but had a slightly hollow look to them. "No word about-" he asked tentatively.

"No. I wouldn't be here; I'd be home caring for them. They'd be tired and cold," Eponine replied, looking briefly at him. She sighed and bit her lip. "Gavroche misses them, you know? They were his _momes_ first. Zelma is still angry with me."

' _An understatement,'_ Enjolras thought. The only real result of the previous week's failed venture to the Faubourg Saint-Antoine was the beginning of a state of war in the Thenardier household. Every day the entire tenement was treated to increasingly heated arguments between the Thenardier girls. In fact it had gotten to the point where in the door of their apartment would have fallen off its hinges had it not been for Combeferre and Citizenness Leclair's prompt intervention and a stern warning to Eponine and Azelma that their door was not meant to be slammed shut at every turn.

"Have you tried to properly explain to Azelma why you object so vehemently?" he asked after a while.

Eponine laughed bitterly. "Maman and Papa did it once, so it is perfectly fine by her." She ran her fingers through her hair for a few moments, as if wondering what to say next. "Do I look nice enough, Enjolras? I heard that it's a rather grand place we're going to."

"Well enough," Enjolras said awkwardly as they alighted at the corner of the Rue de Bac. "You'd be better off asking Courfeyrac; he's a better judge in these matters."

Eponine smiled at him slyly. "And no woman has ever asked you before?"

The young man decided that this was best left unanswered, more so when they were at the door of the Doulcet residence. A footman standing there bowed obsequiously to them. "Citizen Enjolras and Citizenness-" the footman began.

"Thenardier," Enjolras replied before Eponine could say anything. He saw the girl's eyes widen, as if she was aghast. "That _is_ your name, you shouldn't go by any other," he said to her in an undertone as soon as they were admitted into the front hall.

"Someone might ask!" she hissed vehemently, pulling him off to the side. "If I was _de_ Thenardier that would be something but I'm not anything of that sort!"

"There is no use combining the particle with being a Citizenness," Enjolras pointed out. He knew that the invitation of an aristocratic family such as the Doulcets usually wouldn't have extended to him either, since he was _merely_ the son of a bourgeois family with roots in the Haute-Loire. It seemed though as if the fashion of the day was prevailing and the old exclusions were going by the board.

Eponine looked as if she was about to say something to this but she bit her lip and quickly stood up straight. "There is Citizenness Doulcet," she mouthed, gesturing to over Enjolras' shoulder.

Enjolras turned in time to see the richly dressed lady of the house walking up to them. Her hair was curled and bedecked with ribbons according to the latest style. "Good evening Citizenness Doulcet," he said, bowing stiffly.

"We've all been expecting you, Citizen Enjolras, and your...friend," the lady trailed off, her eyes drifting to Eponine at the last second. "I don't believe I've met you before, child."

"I'm Citizenness Thenardier," Eponine replied, not sounding demure at all.

"Thenardier? A charming name," Citizenness Doulcet said with a cordial smile as she motioned for them to follow her into the main sitting room of the house. She sighed exasperatedly at a young girl standing off to one side of the lively gathering. "Anne, _please_ try to be social!"

"I'm sorry. I was waiting for -" the girl said. She looked to be about Azelma's age or a little younger.

"You'll never shine standing there, my dear," Citizenness Doulcet said. "Citizen Enjolras, Citizenness Thenardier, meet my niece Anne Marie Eugenie Milleret de Brou. Anne, I'm sure you've at least heard of Citizen Enjolras in the news."

"Charmed to meet you both," Anne said graciously. She was elegant, though with a high brow and with a face built less delicately than that her relative. "Aunt, I forgot-"

"I'm sure it can wait, Anne. I'm sure you and Citizenness Thenardier will have much to talk about," Citizenness Doulcet cooed. "Citizen Enjolras, the rest of our guests have been anxious to speak with you," she said, taking Enjolras' arm.

"Combeferre and Prouvaire will be here soon. I'll be fine," Eponine said, motioning for Enjolras to follow the lady. "Go."

In that rather garrulous gathering, even most young men of considerable nerve would have found themselves overwhelmed in the introductions and pleasantries. Fortunately for Enjolras, he found some familiar faces there such as Lafayette, Talleyrand, and a few other colleagues from the commissions, thus saving him the trouble of frenetic socializing. In the middle of a discussion regarding the impending elections, an older barrister asked, "Citizen Enjolras, will you be running next year to represent Paris in the legislature?"

"I have yet to consider it," Enjolras replied calmly. The idea was not alien to him, but he had not given much contemplation to it owing to the many other things he had to deal with at present.

"So you'll be running to represent Aix then? You were with the Courgarde after all, I heard," a tall blonde woman cut in. She was beautiful despite the fact that she was dressed in rather ostentatious mourning, complete with an intricate black lace veil.

"Never mind Citizenness de la Mole," Citizenness Doulcet said with an uneasy laugh. "She's a marquis' daughter, but she's rather mad; she was supposed to be married to some fellow who turned out to be a cad and almost a murderer. Imagine, she made a shrine out of his tomb!" she whispered to Enjolras and some of the bystanders who looked confused.

"Some would say it's excusable if it is borne out of passion," an elderly man chimed in.

"Not all of us can afford to be as romantic as say, your sister and your brother-in-law are, Citizen St-Just," Citizenness Doulcet said sweetly. "It's a pity that Lord and Lady Blakeney could not join you on this visit; you have all been away from France for far too long."

' _No close relation to Louis Saint-Just, I presume,'_ Enjolras noted silently as he regarded the man who was now engaged in a lively spat with their hostess. There was little of the clear, pure brilliance of that legendary revolutionary in this gentleman, who seemed more akin to a wearied out cavalier. Before Enjolras could regroup with his acquaintances and pick up from their interrupted discussion, he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned and saw Prouvaire grinning at him.

"I was worried I'd have to stop by the Rue Jean-Jacques Rousseau and drag you here," the poet greeted cheerily. "Though it isn't like Dumas to be late!"

"Hopefully he hasn't run into a mishap," Enjolras commented.

Prouvaire glanced over to where Combeferre, Claudine, and Combeferre's mentor Dr. Stephen Maturin were conferring with some of the other guests. Judging by the clamor near the doorway it also seemed as if the poet Dumas had already arrived. "Dr. Maturin is sorry that the Thenardier boys haven't been found yet," he added more sadly.

"Nevertheless his assistance was valuable; if we have to confront that Citizenness Allen, we will not be at a loss for words," Enjolras replied wryly. "I heard that Azelma declined your invitation to join us?"

Prouvaire sighed even more morosely. "She says she's not fit for such company and at any rate she doesn't want to be around where her sister is, unless it's absolutely necessary. I'm always afraid she'll run and head back to the streets."

' _Rather dramatic,'_ Enjolras thought but he did understand why the poet was so concerned. He glanced to where Claudine had now joined Eponine and Citizenness Milleret in their lively conversation. ' _It will take her a while to get used to this life and to different company_ ,' he observed, clasping Prouvaire's shoulder lightly.

An indignant voice from the middle of the gathering suddenly cut through the hubbub. "Assisting _your_ émigrés in counterrevolution is not the business of the King of England. It is absolutely ridiculous to assign any blame on the King or the Parliament," a ruddy-faced English admiral rebuked a banker with overly large spectacles and pantaloons that were better suited to a man half his age.

"The evidence is undeniable; who is funding the assassins and uproar? Prussia?" the banker snapped. "Who else but England would have a vested interest in restoring Louis-Philippe to the throne?"

"That _is_ firing wide, Citizen Depardieu," Lafayette said calmly. "Without any evidence or testimonies that may very well be a baseless accusation."

"You here in Paris know nothing," the banker retorted. "Haven't you been down to our western border lately, to the coast? To Calais? My own grandson is in the navy, and he says that there are agents about, from across the Channel."

"Are you suggesting espionage?" the English admiral said in a level voice.

"Admiral Calamy, I am sure that Citizen Depardieu did not mean any personal offense. It is merely a natural speculation to make," Dr. Maturin said, joining this group. "You are getting an excess of choler again; this sort of discussion is better saved for the embassy than for this otherwise agreeable room."

The admiral looked at the physician and muttered something in English. A petite matron sitting nearby rolled her eyes and elbowed the admiral, who gave her a long-suffering look. "What the _émigrés_ do in England, who they finance and what their allegiances are is not the government's business. But to accuse England of espionage and active meddling in French affairs outside of a state of war is another," the admiral said slowly after a while.

"The presence of actual counterrevolution may very well hasten it," Citizen Depardieu muttered.

"Gentlemen, please!" Citizenness Doulcet cried. "Might we keep this discussion on the benefits of the legislature and its prospective representatives? It's far too early in the evening to be belligerent!"

By this time Combeferre had joined Enjolras and Prouvaire. "Dr. Maturin is old friends with Admiral Calamy and his wife," he explained discreetly to his friends. "Apparently the Calamys are here to assist the newly appointed ambassador, but it seems as if they have had to untangle some rumors."

"Which have to be cleared up," Enjolras said in an undertone. The memory of finding Combeferre injured during the plebiscite and the attempt on Lafayette's life were all too fresh in his mind, and he was keen to avoid any more untoward incidents. .

"England is definitely in a more inconvenient place to assist a counterrevolution," Prouvaire said.

"Yes but with the border of Prussia so closely guarded, that may give some agents more cause to carry out their business in the Pyrenees or even at sea," Combeferre pointed out. "At any rate this has to be dealt with tactfully or we _could_ have a diplomatic intrigue on our hands."

"One which I am sure even Feuilly will not relish untangling," Prouvaire said with a frown before excusing himself to speak to a friend across the room. Enjolras took the opportunity to also attempt to speak to Citizen Depardieu, who was taking his leave. However before he could catch up to the banker downstairs, the older man was already in his carriage and halfway down the road.

' _So much for that,'_ Enjolras thought, gritting his teeth. He would have to wait another day to make this inquiry, or better yet, bring forward the matter to the consulate. As he turned to make his way back upstairs, he felt a sharp tug on his coattails. He turned around and found a grimy child staring at him. Even in the dark the boy's reddish hair was unmistakable. "Jacques."

"I want to go home. Where's Ponine?" the boy asked.

"She's upstairs. Where's Neville?" Enjolras asked. He could not see if anyone was watching them in the street, but he still took care to lower his voice.

Jacques looked around before grabbing Enjolras' sleeve to lead him into a nearby alley. The stench of refuse and excrement was almost nauseating, but Enjolras managed to keep a straight face as he followed the child towards a precarious looking pile of boxes. Jacques whistled twice and one of the crates moved feebly.

"Who's there?" Neville's voice asked weakly.

"It's Citizen Enjolras!" Jacques said. The crate wobbled and Neville emerged, his dark hair matted over his pallid and thin face. Neville winced and nearly collapsed against the crate, carefully extending his foot, which was clumsily wrapped in a length of linen.

"Where is Citizenness Allen?" Enjolras asked as he crouched to get a better look at the boys. He was sure that there were bruises under the dirt that seemed to cover the boys from head to toe, and judging by the looks of them, they hadn't eaten in at least a day or two.

"Said she'd get bread, told us to ask for francs from the people leaving that house," Neville said, pointing to the Doulcet residence. "My foot hurts so much."

"He slipped and the stones cut it," Jacques chimed in.

As Enjolras managed to scoop up Neville, he heard a step in the alley. "Just where do you think you're taking them?" a woman's harsh voice asked in halting French.

"Citizenness Allen," Enjolras greeted, turning around to find himself confronted with a rather tall, broad-shouldered woman in a low-cut ball gown, with her greying hair falling in rather uneven ringlets.

Citizenness Allen scowled as she looked from Jacques to Enjolras. "Leave them be. They're mine, I paid for them."

"For what purpose?" Enjolras asked, not even hiding the cold fury in his voice. "As for the money, you will get back the exact sum you gave."

"I have no use for your words, young man," the woman snarled, brandishing what appeared to be a knife. When she spoke again it was in English. "I've had them for a week now, and have had to keep and feed them. I will need more."

"If you had been taking care of them instead of using them for begging, perhaps you would be within your rights to argue about compensation. As it is, the kidnapping or sale of a child is reprehensible here as well as in England," Enjolras retorted. He saw the woman shrink back as her eyes widened. "Yes, we know where you have come from, Miss Allen," he added in English, hoping he was at least intelligible.

The woman gaped at him for a moment and then looked over her shoulder as the door to the Doulcets' residence opened again. "What am I to do when you take them away?"

"You will get back what you paid, and then you can make better use of that," Enjolras answered. He felt Neville shiver and curl up against him, the heat from the child's skin was rather alarming.

"When will you give it?"

"Tomorrow," a voice cut in. Enjolras saw that Eponine was now in the alley. "Luxembourg. I will be there first thing in the morning."

"Who are you?" Citizenness Allen asked.

"The _other_ Citizenness Thenardier," Eponine replied. "I will give you the money-all of it."

"It's not enough."

"It is," Eponine insisted. "That man there, he is a lawyer. He can bring you to the Palais de Justice if you will not give me back my brothers and take back your money."

For a moment Enjolras had been about to protest the idea of making a deal with this woman, but he knew that she would never let them go free on _his_ terms. He simply nodded as Citizenness Allen and even the younger Thenardiers stared at him as if he was some spectacle from a travelling show. After a long moment, Citizenness Allen put away her knife and pushed past Eponine as she left the alley.

Neville raised his head slightly. "That's Ponine there?"

"It is," Enjolras said, adjusting his hold on the boy even as he stepped aside to let Jacques run to his sister. "We need to have Combeferre or Citizen Maturin take care of Neville," he said to Eponine as he carried Neville out of the alley.

Eponine's eyes widened at the sight of Neville. "What did she do to him?" she asked in a whisper.

"More of what she _didn't_ do for him," Enjolras answered as they brought the two children into the house, eliciting some shocked gasps from the guests still lingering near the door. Inasmuch as the more stringent part of his mind said otherwise, he knew that apprehending Citizenness Allen and questioning her about the suspected murder at the Faubourg Saint-Antoine would just have to wait till the morning. Once they were in the front hall, Enjolras set Neville down on a chaise, while Eponine took a seat nearby. He then hurried into the sitting room, where he quickly located Combeferre in the middle of a discussion with Citizeness Doulcet about Arago's work.

Combeferre's brow was furrowed after he finished examining the two children. "Jacques should be fine after some food and rest, but Neville's foot may grow gangrenous. There's still a small chance we can save it yet."

"Save it?" Eponine asked fearfully, looking up from where she was trying to soothe Jacques, who was curled up in her lap.

Combeferre sighed as he looked her in the face. "We may have to amputate."

The mention of amputation was enough to make Enjolras' stomach lurch. ' _No, not that,'_ he thought, casting a glance at Neville, who'd fallen into a fitful sleep. "Is there any way it can be avoided?" he asked his friend.

"I'll confer with Dr. Maturin about treatments that can be used; he's saved some limbs from amputation before. The recovery may be slow though," Combeferre said seriously. "But I cannot promise anything there; the priority is to save Neville's life. I'm sorry."

Eponine bit her lip but she managed a small nod. "I see. Thank you," she finally said. "Both of you," she added, looking now at Enjolras. "You should go back inside, rejoin them-"

"We need to get your brothers home," Enjolras could not be sure that Citizenness Allen was away from the vicinity, apart from the fact that Eponine would clearly need help for the rest of the evening.

"I'll join you in a few minutes," Combeferre said before going back into the sitting room.

Eponine carefully set Jacques down next to Neville, then draped her shawl over the children. "Look at your coat, Enjolras. And my dress," she said, pointing to their clothes.

The young man looked down and saw that his clothes, particularly his sleeves, were streaked with grayish dirt and some blood. The front of Eponine's dress was stained with mud, and there were also smudges of dirt on her face thanks to Jacques' grimy fingers. "It will wash off."

"Well we're not going back in there, not now," Eponine remarked wryly. "So much for trying to be elegant; Dumas was reading really well when I saw you'd gone. And I think Citizenness Doulcet would scream out loud if she saw this. But her niece Citizenness Milleret was rather nice."

"For all you know Citizenness Doulcet herself might offer some assistance if and when she hears of this," Enjolras pointed out. He noticed that Eponine's hair ribbon had come loose and was now on the verge of falling to the floor. "Here, before you lose this," he said, picking it off her shoulder.

"Thank you," Eponine said, getting the ribbon from him. "I know you don't always do well in dark alleys, but just this time it was good you were there to get my brothers."

"You came at the right time too. Thank you as well," Enjolras said. He saw a smile briefly cross Eponine's face moments before the door opened again and they were rejoined by their friends.


	28. Chapter 28

_A/N: LONG chapter. Warning for a rather traumatic scene at the end of it._

**Chapter 28: The Extension of Family**

The first light of dawn found Eponine already awake and preparing for the encounter at the Luxembourg. ' _Thank heavens Combeferre said he'd watch Neville till I could get this over and done with,'_ she thought as she searched for the small pouch of money that had been a payment for her brothers. She bit her lip as she looked at the empty space in the bed that Neville normally shared with Jacques; she'd moved her ill brother upstairs to Combeferre's room so he could recuperate without being disturbed by the antics of the rest of the household. ' _Maybe by Christmas he'll be back here,'_ she thought wistfully as she opened a drawer.

Suddenly the drawer slammed shut, nearly trapping Eponine's fingers. "What are you doing?" Azelma asked in a low voice.

"Giving back the money to Citizenness Allen," Eponine replied crossly. "I told her I would."

"You think she's going to just take it and leave us alone," Azelma mocked. "You know how stupid that sounds, Ponine?"

"I don't care if it sounds stupid to you, but it's what I have to do," Eponine retorted as she tried to yank the drawer open again, but was stopped by Azelma's hand. "Will you stop being such a pest?"

"Pest? You're calling me _that_ after my trying to help?" Azelma spat. She was now red in the face as she looked at her sister. "I keep telling you why I had to get that money, to help us through the winter."

"And look what it did!"

"Maman did the same thing, you know. It got us ten francs a month this is so much more-"

"You've seen Neville's foot," Eponine snapped. "He might lose it, he might never be able to run-"

"It's only because he fell down and hurt himself!"

"Well we don't know when that happened! If we hadn't been at the Rue de Bac last night, we might not have found them and they might be _dead_ by winter. Dead! Don't you remember what that means?"

Azelma raised an eyebrow. "That wouldn't be our fault."

"It would be since they're still our brothers!" Eponine shot back as she tried again to pry Azelma's hand away from the drawer. "Maman is gone and Papa is somewhere, so who else can take care of them?"

"I solved that problem," Azelma huffed. "What, the money isn't enough for you then-"

"Azelma, it's _not_ about the money!"

"Not about that? Come on, Eponine, isn't that what we always need, what we always never have enough of? Isn't that why you were sighing after that Baron Pontmercy, and then that lancer Gillenormand?" Azelma taunted. "Isn't that what you want with _Enjolras_?"

Eponine felt her face grow hot at these accusations. "I never asked money from them. That's never what I wanted with Marius or Theodule."

Azelma stamped her foot. "You can't keep on pretending to be a lady if you have nothing to show for it!"

"What more do you want me to do?" Eponine seethed, finally yanking the drawer open. "Did you think respectable meant just sitting around all day-"

"Maybe it's fine by you to work at that bookshop all day, but that's not fine by me! If you could get more money-"

"I'm not making any more deals like what Papa used to do."

Azelma looked at her for a moment and laughed. "Parnasse was right, you were always such a silly."

"I don't care what Parnasse said," Eponine said through gritted teeth as she finally pocketed the small pouch containing the money from Citizenness Allen. "I'll be back for breakfast-"

By this time even Gavroche and Jacques were up. "Ponine, where are you going?" Jacques asked.

"Making sure that the lady won't ever have you or Neville again," Eponine answered.

Jacques shook her head and tugged at her skirt. "Ponine, she's scary! Don't go!"

"She'll be fine; if anyone can do it, it's Ponine, she's not scared," Gavroche said cockily.

"He's right," Eponine replied, wishing she could believe Gavroche's reassurances. The truth was that she wished that she could either stay at home or hide behind the bookshop counter. She was safe in those places; out in the Luxembourg with Citizenness Allen was another story.

Nevertheless she took a deep breath as she pushed her hair back behind her ears. "You go on down, I think Citizenness Leclair will have breakfast ready. Enjolras might be there too. Gavroche will walk with you to school today," she added, carefully straightening out Jacques' shirt before hugging him briefly. Gavroche gave her a confident grin before springing up to open the door for her. She noticed a disgusted look forming on Azelma's face, but she willed herself to simply close the apartment door behind her and hurry downstairs.

The early morning air was crisp and chilly, enough to make Eponine choose to run to the Luxembourg instead of heading there at a slow plod. She was nearly winded by the time she got there, in time to see the sun now rising over the treetops. ' _Will she be early or late?'_ she wondered as she looked about. She finally caught sight of Citizenness Allen, clad in a thick blue merino dress, with her face covered by a large hat with purple plumes.

The Englishwoman sneered at Eponine. "You're late."

"What do you mean? I haven't heard the bells toll yet for matins," Eponine said. She held out the small moneybag. "It's the exact amount. Five thousand francs." Inasmuch as she was sorry to have to return this sum of money, she had to steel herself to make the exchange anyway.

Citizenness Allen's lips pursed with disapproval. "I will need more. I fed those whining brats for a week, and I need to settle my accounts."

"I told you I'd give nothing more," Eponine replied, tossing the bag at the older woman's feet. "You can count it out right now, in front of me."

"Who gave you that idea, your handsome lawyer friend?"

' _No, that was what Papa would have told me to do in this case,'_ Eponine thought, balling up her hand into a fist in the event Citizenness Allen attacked her. The woman gave her a venomous look as she bent to pick up the money bag before quickly stashing it in her skirt. "You'd better not cross my path again, girl, or I will not be as kind," she growled.

"I will be watching," Eponine said, smiling coolly. She stood still, waiting till Citizenness Allen was out of the park before she made her way to a bench near a statue of a gladiator. She sighed with relief as she heard the bells began to ring in the distance, signalling the first prayers of the day.

Suddenly a surprised cry and a series of curses came from the end of the park, prompting Eponine to look up in time to see a policeman accosting Citizenness Allen. Eponine lost no time in hiding behind some tall shrubbery before the Englishwoman could point her out. ' _It's not over yet!'_ she thought as she quickly ran through the promenade, clambering over a fence to make her escape unnoticed. She wouldn't be surprised if Montparnasse, Babet, Gueuleumer or some of their associates soon showed up at her door, demanding an explanation.

It occurred to her, just as she reached the corner of the Rue Jean-Jacques Rousseau, that there was only one person who could have tipped off the police about Citizenness Allen's whereabouts. She gritted her teeth, determined now to get across to a certain young man that he may as well have earned another round of retribution because of this bit of intelligence. However when she arrived back at the house, Enjolras was nowhere to be found, again.

"Actually he went out before breakfast, before anyone could get downstairs," Citizenness Leclair informed her. "Thought you'd gone out to see him, Eponine."

Eponine shook her head. ' _He probably went straight to work after going to the police,'_ she realized. "Is there still bread left? I'll eat it while watching my brother-"

"No, you will eat properly downstairs. I'll go up and take care of Neville so that the doctor can get some rest," Citizenness Leclair said, practically pushing Eponine to the kitchen. "I'll even get Azelma to come with me since your brothers are already at school," the concierge called over her shoulder as she sauntered up the stairs.

' _Now I'll have to find a way to thank her too,'_ Eponine thought as she reluctantly sat down for her solitary repast. She couldn't help but think of how nearly all her friends had pitched in during the previous week to help search for her brothers. The young men, as well as Claudine, Musichetta, and Paulette had made inquiries in their respective circles and neighborhoods. In fact the Pontmercys had even gone as far as searching some orphanages surrounding Paris. ' _They didn't have to do it, none of them had to,'_ she thought. Somehow, she couldn't help but wonder if she would have had the courage to do the same if their positions had ever been reversed.

Fortunately the bookshop was busy again that day, giving Eponine less time to mull over these matters. As she was in the middle of cutting up some books that had begun to grow moldy, she noticed a lancer walking up to the shop. She bit her lip as she watched him push the door open. "Good morning Citizen Gillenormand."

He bowed stiffly. "Mademoiselle Thenardier. You look very well."

Eponine managed a smile. "Thank you. It's been some time since you've come here."

"I've been busy," Theodule replied. "How are your siblings?"

"Mostly well, but Neville has been a little ill." She gritted her teeth at the lie though she would never be able to explain her present troubles to Theodule. "Are you looking for a present for someone?" she asked innocently.

"No. It's you I want to speak with," Theodule replied. "I have leave to visit my mother's family, in Dijon. I will be gone beginning tomorrow until after the New Year. Would you want to accompany me?"

Eponine's jaw dropped. For a moment the idea of travelling, of the diligence and the promise of different climes filled her mind, making her smile widely. ' _It would be wonderful to see those!'_ she thought. "I s'pose I'd like it very much, and so will Azelma..."

"Azelma, your sister?" Theodule clarified.

"Yes, who else? She and the boys-"

"I don't know if they can come along, my relatives cannot put even _them_ up. I'm sure your friends or even my cousin will be happy to let them stay over for a few days."

The idea of getting away from Azelma for a little while was enough to make Eponine smile at least for a moment, at least until she remembered Jacques' pleading earlier that morning. She sighed as she looked at Theodule. "I shouldn't. My friends have families to visit too, most of them at least," she said, remembering Feuilly at the last minute. "I can't ask them to do what I should be doing."

Theodule's mustache twitched. "You won't even consider it? We would enjoy the trip. It would be a chance to get away from this city for a while."

"I wish I could think of it that way," Eponine replied. She thought of saying that she did miss Theodule's company but she bit her lip. ' _You hardly thought of him during all this time,'_ she realized. Even being this close to him did not bring about any pull or ache, as she used to feel in days gone by when Marius or Montparnasse was around.

The lancer smiled wryly. "You're becoming a bit too serious -like my cousin or some of your other friends. You're far too young for that, Mademoiselle."

"I s'pose, but they've had plenty of troubles and so have I," Eponine pointed out. She knew that a lancer's life wasn't easy but it was a better guarantee of employment, lodging, and food than most other situations she could think of.

"Can't I ask you to reconsider?"

"I'm sorry, no."

Theodule paused before nodding slowly. "Well then, I hope you and your siblings will enjoy the holidays. Goodbye, Mademoiselle Thenardier," he said before tipping his hat to her and then quitting the shop.

' _I really wanted to go, but he couldn't see it,'_ Eponine thought. She gritted her teeth, wishing for a little bit that she could simply forget all the worries of the past days and weeks. ' _I can't even wish to be like Cosette since she's got her father to worry about too,'_ she told herself as she got back to her work. At least she could actually earn five francs instead of resorting to begging that sum from the neighbours.

When she returned to the Rue Jean-Jacques Rousseau later that day, she saw that the door of the house was open. Before she could step in and ask, Musichetta pulled her into the front hall. "We've invaded the house," she laughed.

"Who do you mean by 'we'?" Eponine asked as she followed her friend upstairs. She rolled her eyes when she saw Gavroche sitting with Bahorel, Bossuet, and Grantaire in the hallway, listening to their stories. ' _That can only mean trouble,'_ she thought. "What are you doing here?"

"Visiting your brothers and making sure that you and Combeferre do not weary yourselves out," Bossuet replied. "Joly and Claudine are upstairs with Combeferre. Where's Enjolras?"

"Haven't seen him all day," Eponine replied distractedly. She peered in her room and saw Paulette and Cosette fussing over little Jacques. Courfeyrac and Feuilly were also there, ribbing Marius about something. Prouvaire was chatting with Azelma, but in hushed tones. At the sight of Eponine, Azelma rolled her eyes and picked up a book. Prouvaire shook his head before glancing at Azelma, and then hurrying over to where Eponine stood.

Eponine looked at him quizzically. "My sister has been telling you things, hasn't she?"

Prouvaire glanced at Azelma before a guilty blush covered his face. "She told me you got into a fight this morning," he blurted out.

Eponine rolled her eyes. "She started it."

"I don't know what happened. I don't know if I want to. But she told me she wants to stay with me," the poet said. "I want to ask if it is fine with you."

' _Is it because of this week?'_ Eponine wondered, casting a critical look at her sister. Although Azelma wasn't talking of running back to the streets, the fact that she wanted to leave and move under someone else's roof still stung somewhat. "She doesn't have to stay with you; I'll care for her better, try not to fight-" she began.

"Eponine, I was the one who made the offer of my place," Prouvaire confessed.

"What!"

Prouvaire reddened even further. "I'm sorry if I offended you; that wasn't what I intended. It's just that she told me she's not _happy_ , and I know it's because you've been fighting so much. I don't want to see her back on the streets. I only want to help her."

"You know how my sister is! What if she leads her old friends to your rooms?" Eponine hissed. She did not want to imagine what Azelma was capable of nowadays, especially after the debacle with their brothers. There was no telling what she would do to a man as gentle as Prouvaire.

"I don't think she will," Prouvaire said with a new firmness in his voice. "I trust her."

Eponine sighed, glancing from Prouvaire to Azelma. ' _One more fight and Zelma will probably run,'_ she realized. Had things gotten so bad to the point that Prouvaire was the only person that Azelma could stand? Eponine knew that she could trust Prouvaire as far as Azelma's welfare was concerned, but would it be enough to make this proposed situation a success? Yet it seemed that the only alternative was Azelma packing up but heading out to the alleys again.

"One month then. But if she does anything to you, I'm going to the police myself," Eponine said after a few moments. "I hope you will not regret it."

"Thank you. I hope the same as well," Prouvaire said with relief before hurrying back to where Azelma was still seated.

' _I almost feel sorry for Prouvaire now,'_ Eponine couldn't help thinking. She glanced over to where Azelma and Prouvaire were now talking and for a moment her gaze met Azelma's. A smirk of triumph spread over the younger girl's face, just long enough to make Eponine's gut lurch. She bit her lip as she went to where Jacques was squirming away from Paulette, who was trying to pinch his cheeks.

"Ponine, why are there so many people here?" the child whined as his sister scooped him up.

"I s'pose since it's because they want to make sure you and Neville will be fine," Eponine said, brushing some pastry crumbs off her brother's shirt. "Who told you all?" she asked her friends.

"Courfeyrac. You know that nothing misses him," Cosette replied. She gestured to a large wicker basket. "We also brought some treats for your brothers, and I found a lovely scarf for Azelma and a book for you."

"Thank you," Eponine said. It felt a little awkward to accept a gift from Cosette, especially considering the fact that she'd once given the other woman rags. "How is your father?"

"Better each day. Did the police ever catch the lady who took your brothers?"

"I think so," Eponine said, remembering briefly the aftermath of the encounter at the park. "I s'pose she won't bother us ever, I've seen her face and she knows I can remember it and tell anyone."

"I heard that you and Enjolras actually had to _fight_ her in an alley?" Paulette asked.

"We didn't, but she got scared like a baby, I think she knew I could scream and if the _cognes_ , I mean the police, came they would believe us and not her," Eponine explained.

"Did you have to speak to her in English?" Paulette asked moments before Musichetta entered the room, looking quite cross. "What happened?" she asked the other grisette.

"The boys are being silly," Musichetta said, casting a look at where Bahorel and Grantaire had now sauntered up to Courfeyrac and Feuilly. Bossuet was trying to explain something to Prouvaire, who looked vaguely amused at the situation. "They are trying to start a petition to get Enjolras to run for the Parisian legislature," Musichetta replied.

Eponine's eyes widened. "Why do you need a petition? He can decide for himself, can't he?"

"Because he can also very well run for the legislature but representing Aix," Courfeyrac explained. "It's our friends from the Courgourde who are clamouring for him to do so."

"How long till he has to decide?" Eponine asked.

"He has till the 28th of this month," Feuilly said.

"That's two days after the hearing for Father's case. There is still time to decide," Cosette observed.

"I pity him; there will be agitation for sure from his colleagues, both past and present. Which is why we must make some very convincing arguments-" Bahorel began.

"Has he even said if he wants to run at all?" Marius chimed in.

"Why, will he decide otherwise?" Grantaire remarked.

"Decide on what?" another voice chimed in. Silence quickly descended upon the entire room as everyone turned to see Enjolras with a wry smile on his face as he stood in the doorway.

"About you running for the legislature?" Courfeyrac said innocently.

"I have some other matters to settle before I can think about it properly," Enjolras replied, glancing momentarily at the Pontmercys.

Bossuet grinned at him. "So you _have_ been thinking about it?"

"Because it has been brought up time and again." Enjolras paused as he regarded his friends. "The legislature isn't the only means to continue the work started this June."

"But it is very direct," Courfeyrac replied. "Lasting, even."

' _He'd do a fantastic job, no matter where he chooses to go,'_ Eponine thought, even as she watched Enjolras' expression grow pensive as he took a seat. ' _But if he runs at Aix, he will have to go. First Theodule, then him,'_ she couldn't help thinking, even when she saw Claudine in the hallway.

"How is-" Eponine asked as she hurried out into the hall. She felt the words die in her throat at the sight of her friend's face; the older girl's countenance was drawn and grim. "Claudine? What's happened to my brother?"

"The infection is beginning to spread," Claudine whispered. She took Eponine's hands. "I'm sorry, Eponine, but you know we have to-"

"Combeferre said he found medicine. Enjolras and I saw him put it on Neville's foot. Maybe it just needs a little time-" Eponine pleaded. "Please, please..."

"I wish we could do something more but it's now a choice of letting your brother survive with one foot or burying him with two," Claudine said more firmly. "He's already ill and getting wound-fever would only worsen it."

Eponine bit her lip, remembering how this sort of illness sometimes claimed people who lived under the bridge long before drowning or the cold weather could. "When will he do it?" she asked more steadily.

"Tonight. He has the evening free since he and another doctor have swapped duties for the upcoming holiday. As soon as Joly returns with some supplies, we can begin," Claudine explained.

Eponine took a deep breath, willing herself to stay calm. There was no way she could allow her siblings, especially Neville, to see her so rattled. She caught sight of Gavroche watching her from the doorway and she pointed upwards. The boy nodded with understanding before ducking back into the room.

When Eponine and Claudine went up to Combeferre's room, they found the young physician clearing up some of the clutter in his apartment and setting up some lamps. He had taken off his coat and had pushed his shirtsleeves up past his elbows. "We'll need all the light we can get," he said by way of greeting. "Eponine, I'm sorry about this," he added more remorsefully.

"You're doing your best. You'll save his life," Eponine reassured him. She tiptoed over to where Neville was lying in bed, with his foot swathed in bandages. "How are you feeling, _petit?"_ she asked.

Neville managed a pained smile. "Sleepy. My foot still hurts."

Eponine looked down, unsure whether to tell her brother about what was going to happen. ' _Why did he have to be awake?'_ she cursed silently. She settled for wiping his forehead with a clean cloth she found at his bedside, hoping to soothe him somewhat.

Neville whimpered and pushed her hand away. "My foot still hurts," he said more plaintively to Combeferre.

"Don't tell him!" Eponine mouthed but she saw him shake his head. "What are you going to say?" she asked him furtively.

Combeferre sighed, looking momentarily to Claudine, who was preparing some bandages. She nodded and squeezed his shoulder. Only then Combeferre looked at the boy. "Neville, your foot is part of why you feel so sick."

"Will you fix it?"

"I cannot, _petit._ We have to cut it off, or you will get sicker."

Neville stared at Combeferre for a moment, clearly in disbelief. "Cut it off, forever?"

"Yes." Combeferre winced and rubbed his temples as the boy began to scream. "Eponine-"

Eponine quickly grabbed Neville, who was trying to kick off the blankets with his good foot. "Neville, if he doesn't do it, you're not going to get better!" she nearly yelled in his face. ' _Please stop crying, please!'_ she wanted to beg, but she knew he was past the point of reason now.

"It's going to hurt! I don't want it to hurt! I want my foot!" Neville yelled hysterically, gripping his sister's arms as if for dear life. "I don't want to die..." he sniffled, curling up in a ball as best as he could.

She nodded as she pulled him close, trying to calm down his shuddering form. She heard the door open and she saw Enjolras there. "Sorry about the noise," she said to him.

Enjolras merely pulled up a chair next to the bed. "Everyone went home, except for Courfeyrac and Paulette. They are with Gavroche and Jacques down at Citizen Leclair's room. Azelma said she had to pack her belongings?"

"She's going to stay with Prouvaire," Eponine said bitterly. "She hates me that much now, that she'd rather stay with him than with me. At least it's not with Montparnasse again."

"I don't think your sister truly hates you," Enjolras pointed out. He paused at the sound of doors opening and closing downstairs. "Prouvaire will take care of her though."

"Keep her from going back to the streets," Eponine muttered. "Anything is better than that."

"I'm not so sure," Enjolras replied. He reached out and ruffled Neville's hair awkwardly. "You'll get better soon..."

"But my foot..." Neville whimpered.

Enjolras nodded, all the while managing to keep a straight face. "Is there anything he can possibly have for the pain?" he asked Combeferre.

"I was able to get some laudanum. Dr. Maturin had his supply on hand," Combeferre said, holding up a small bottle. "At least it will take an edge off the pain, somehow."

One of Enjolras' eyebrows shot up. "Didn't you mention once that he _used_ that same drug on _himself_?"

"It has a calming effect," Combeferre replied quickly.

The door of the room swung open and Joly entered, carrying a large bag. "Will we be able to manage a cauterization, even up here?" he asked his friend worriedly.

"I was thinking of just using ligatures. Ambroise Pare's technique," Combeferre replied. "It should be less painful for him."

"Ah yes, Pare's methods. Should have thought of bringing the turpentine," Joly said as he also removed his coat and rolled up his shirt sleeves.

Claudine shook her head. "Rather messy."

Meanwhile Combeferre carefully measured out some drops of laudanum and went to Neville's bedside. "You have to drink this," he said firmly to the child.

Neville sniffed and then frowned. "It smells funny."

"It will hurt less if you drink it," Combeferre insisted. Neville gave him a disbelieving look before he swallowed the medicine, only to end up grimacing with disgust.

Eponine tensed as she saw the large curved knives and other implements that would be used for the amputation. ' _Much worse than Montparnasse's lingre,'_ she couldn't help thinking. She noticed that Enjolras was also in his shirtsleeves now. "You don't have to stay."

"You need the extra hands," Enjolras pointed out.

"Joly, please move that lamp here," Combeferre muttered. He nodded as Claudine moved to restrain Neville's arms while Enjolras went to hold down Neville's other leg. "He can cry all he wants, but just make sure he doesn't move," Combeferre instructed as he handed over a strip of leather for Neville to bite down on.

"He's not very big, it shouldn't be so difficult," Eponine said, placing the leather between her brother's teeth before adjusting her grip on his shoulders. She felt her gut twist on seeing the discoloured skin of Neville's foot. ' _Even if he could keep it he'd never walk on it again,'_ she thought as she looked away, now vaguely aware of Combeferre and Joly talking as they tied off the limb. After a few moments she felt her brother tense under her hands; in fact she could almost feel the screams that he was trying to bite back. She cringed at the sound of a knife finally meeting the bone; that grating was nearly enough to make her hair stand on end. Only Combeferre and Joly seemed impassive while Claudine was already looking down and biting her lip when Neville's whimpers soon turned to shrieksThe very effort of trying to hold him down was enough to make Eponine's arms shake and it was all she could do to keep her voice level as she tried to distract him, but it was evident that he was past the point of even listening. She felt a callused hand close around hers momentarily and her gaze met Enjolras'. She nodded and squeezed his fingers lightly, desperately needing some sort of handhold in this dire situation.

It felt like an eternity till at last Combeferre began to bandage Neville's leg. "It's finished," he said, his voice nearly cracked with disuse. "Hopefully his fever will break soon."

"Thank you," Eponine said. "You'll be better now, Neville. You can see Gavroche and Jacques soon," she said in her brother's ear.

The boy's sobs quieted as he looked at her. "What about Zelma? She's gone now?"

"Well, you can have her bed," Eponine replied wearily, going to help Claudine clean up the place. She was pretty sure she had never seen so much blood, not even during her days of watching Montparnasse at his work, or even when she had gotten shot at the barricade. "I don't know how you and Combeferre can manage in times like this," she said in an undertone to her friend.

"Talk and a pot of coffee," Claudine replied, managing a smile. "He'll be fine soon; he just needs some rest, poor man."

"Neville can stay here another night, just so we can make sure that the wound will start healing," Combeferre said as he began wiping his instruments clean.

"You need to rest in _your_ bed," Enjolras said. "Neville can use my room."

"And you?" Eponine asked him.

"I have much to finish working on," Enjolras replied. It also went without saying that he would be the one watching over Neville for the rest of the night. "You have two other brothers who also need you."

Eponine nodded. "I'll also sit up, so you can get some sleep too," she said. It was the least she could do thank him. In a few minutes the room was cleaned up and Joly took his leave, saying he had to get home before the late night air did more damage to his throat. Combeferre and Claudine headed down to the kitchen while Enjolras and Eponine moved Neville down to Enjolras' room.

Eponine stopped for a moment at her own apartment and saw that her two other brothers were already there. "Courfeyrac told us it was safe to come up," Jacques reported.

"No, it's because Paulette wanted to go home," Gavroche corrected him. "What about Neville?"

"He's in the next room-he's there so you don't disturb his leg very much," Eponine said.

"Gavroche said it was going to be cut off," Jacques said.

"That is what happened.

"It's never growing back?"

"He's a boy, not a plant," Gavroche retorted. "Silly _mome_."

"You two go to sleep," Eponine said, tossing a blanket over to them. She wondered for a moment if they would ever wonder where Azelma was, but she decided not to ponder that matter at least for tonight. She slipped out and went to the next room and she saw that Neville had fallen asleep almost immediately on Enjolras' bed. Enjolras appeared to be reading through a thick book but he had strategically positioned his chair so that Neville was still somewhat in his line of sight.

"You didn't have to see that. You didn't have to stay," she said to Enjolras in a whisper as she sat down next to him.

He looked up from his reading. "I'd do that for a friend."

"Yes, for Combeferre I s'pose."

"Joly and Claudine were already there." He paused before glancing at Neville. "He's lucky. Other people in his position are not able to ever see a doctor."

"If you were in the legislature, you could help change that," Eponine said, touching his arm lightly.

He smiled at her. "Among many other things, I hope."

She nodded, all the while wondering if she should ask if he was really planning to move to Aix. Yet now, with Neville sick and Jean Valjean's hearing coming up, it hardly seemed proper. Instead she managed to return his smile. "You'd do a lot of good, no matter where you are."

"Eponine, I haven't exactly decided what to do yet," he pointed out.

"I know. But aside from old friends and the Courgourde and your family, why would you return to Aix?" she asked.

"Because the revolution isn't only in Paris, and there are reforms that need to be done in the Midi. Regional matters," Enjolras said. "But being in Paris has its advantages."

"What happens in Paris tends to be the beginning of what happens elsewhere," Eponine remarked. "You've been here so long too and you're more Parisian now than you know."

"How would you know?"

Eponine paused, realizing that she didn't have a proper answer to this query. "I s'pose it's because you don't speak the same way as some of the other students do. And you are a little like Citizen Pontmercy and Citizen Gillenormand; somewhat dignified."

"Being dignified doesn't mean being Parisian," he scoffed.

"Dignified in the same way," she amended. "Nothing like the men that used to go to the old inn, those ones who'd be coming up from the south." Then again, Enjolras was very different from the two men she had just mentioned. Even when he did not mean to be intimidating, there was always this certain intensity around him that seemed to catch her.

He shrugged at this remark. "You make the oddest observations, Eponine," he said. He looked at her as he folded a corner of the page he was reading. "It was brave of you to stay."

"He's my brother, I had to."

"I do not mean only about the amputation."

"Well _someone_ has to talk to thieves and save you from the dark alleys," she quipped. ' _If he goes to Aix, maybe I could ask to come for a while?'_ the idea occurred to her. She sighed and shook her head; it was impossible, especially with her work and her siblings. ' _But what can I do to get him to stay?'_ she wondered silently before she inched over to ask him more about the book he had yet to put down.


	29. Chapter 29: Children from the Midi

_A/N: A few more reviews please?_

**Chapter 29: Children from the Midi**

"The court rules that the sentence versus Citizen Valjean be repealed and that a pardon be granted. Citizen, you are free to go _."_

All eyes turned to Jean Valjean, who was still sitting ramrod straight in the defendant's seat. The former convict's face was that of a man who had suddenly been relieved of an immense burden. He clasped his hands, as if in prayer, until a voice called 'Father!" He stood up and turned to see Cosette and Marius practically scrambling through the gallery to reach him. In a few moments, Cosette flung her arms around him, weeping for joy in his shoulder. Marius hesitated for a second before Jean Valjean and Cosette pulled him into their embrace as well.

Not far off, Enjolras let out a breath he did not know he had been holding. Although the review of the case had been swift, taking up only the better part of the morning and part of the afternoon of the 26th of December, he knew better than to be overconfident about the outcome. ' _Now he can live his years out in peace,'_ he thought with unmingled relief as he saw Jean Valjean holding Cosette and Marius close, almost as if they were two small children all over again.

At length Jean Valjean looked at Enjolras. "Citizen Enjolras, this is a debt I cannot repay," he said.

"It is I who has been in your debt," Enjolras answered, remembering that Jean Valjean been at the Rue de Chanvrerie, and had helped him and Combeferre bring Marius and Eponine to safety.

"If there is anything we can ever do to repay you, simply say so," Marius said. "I know that you stayed here in Paris for this case instead of returning to Aix to see your parents. It is a huge sacrifice," he added in an undertone.

"I explained my absence and I did not receive any objections," Enjolras said mildly. It was the truth, though it was more owing to the fact that he had yet to receive his parents' latest letter. "I will simply have to meet my parents at a more auspicious time."

"I hope it will come out right for you then," Cosette advised. "We should have a fine dinner at home, to celebrate Father returning safely. You should come too, Citizen, and you should bring Eponine too."

Enjolras bowed politely. "Thank you but that is not entirely necessary."

"I want us to celebrate and be happy. It's been so long since we've had company" Cosette insisted. "In two days, on the 28th. All of us-all of our friends- should be there."

"I will send word tomorrow if I can be present," he said politely. He could trust though that dinner at the Pontmercys would certainly be less tense than the past few occasions when he and Prouvaire dined with _all_ the Thenardier siblings. ' _It was a good thing that at least Gavroche, of all people, still managed to be civil,'_ he mused ruefully as he made his way to Prouvaire's apartment to pick up a manuscript that the poet had borrowed some days before.

He knocked several times on the door before it was opened just halfway. "What are you doing here?" Azelma snapped drowsily. Her eyes were still puffy with sleep, and she wore one of Prouvaire's coats over her chemise.

"Good afternoon, Citizenness. I was merely coming for that book I lent to Prouvaire," Enjolras said cordially. He could never speak so familiarly with Azelma as he did with Eponine. Azelma's present state of dress did not make conversation any easier.

"Jehan went to get our clothes at the laundrywoman's."

"I shall wait for him then out here."

"You don't have to," Azelma said in a tone that was meant to be sweet before she opened the door wider. "I can find it myself and give it to you."

Enjolras had to hold back a comment as he got a look at the state of his friend's quarters. While Prouvaire had never been a particularly fastidious person, he still managed to maintain some sense of order in the two rooms he rented. Today his dwelling was strewn with books, clothing, music scores, and even bits of soil from his potted plants. It was quite unlike the charming garret that the poet had once described at the barricade.

"Perhaps I should come at a better time." Enjolras asked awkwardly, stepping aside to let Azelma rifle through a bookshelf.

"I was about to straighten this place up anyway," Azelma said, finally locating the book under a pile of folios. "You're not here because of my sister, are you?" she asked suspiciously.

"Not at all."

Azelma smirked as she plopped down on an unmade bed. "She used to be much nicer before she laid her eyes on that Baron Pontmercy. Since then she's been impossible, trying to get his attention and then all her saying that I ought to help in being respectable." She swung her legs as she adjusted the coat over her chemise. "You don't find respectable bourgeoisie ladies working like she does every day."

"Even work is respectable."

"She wants me to get a place in some shop. I don't know how to do much of anything. I'm not smart like her, or like you."

Before Enjolras could comment on that, he heard the creaking of the door hinge. "Enjolras, I see you have your book," Prouvaire greeted cheerily from behind an armful of newly laundered garments.

"Azelma found it," Enjolras said, going to help his friend with his load. He saw that Prouvaire wasn't alone; Bahorel, Grantaire, and some other friends from the Sorbonne and the Polytechnique were with him. At the sight of these visitors, Azelma turned violently red as she grabbed a dress and then disappeared into the next room.

"What are you doing?" Enjolras asked the newcomers curiously. He glanced warily at some of the odd, lumpy packages that his friends had. Hopefully he wouldn't hear of a story involving exploding materials or of another fake corpse positioned in a public location.

"Rehearsing Prouvaire's latest effort," Grantaire replied. "You should join us."

"I'm afraid I have other things to see to," Enjolras said. He cleared his throat. "It might interest you to know that Citizen Valjean was granted his pardon today."

Bahorel let out a joyous cheer. "Now from the courts, on to the Parisian legislature!"

"The legislature, that is for certain," Enjolras said clearly. For as long as Jean Valjean's case was undecided, Enjolras believed it would be imprudent or even downright controversial to mention anything about filing for candidacy in the legislature. Given the unusual nature of the case, he did not want the outcome in the court to be affected in any way by rumors of undue influence or by affronts from the rest of the political arena.

"You were just waiting for the trial to finish, weren't you?" Prouvaire asked eagerly.

Enjolras nodded. "Tomorrow I will file for my candidacy."

"For Paris or for Aix?" another student chimed in.

"For Paris of course," Prouvaire said. "Where else?"

"There is an option for Enjolras to file for his candidacy elsewhere with the office here at Paris, for as long as he is in Aix next year," Bahorel explained. "But Enjolras, surely you've read the petitions already asking you to run in Paris?"

"I have _twenty-five_ of them, some delivered straight to my doorstep," Enjolras replied dryly. He heard the door to the next room creak open and he saw Azelma peep out for a moment before suddenly slamming the door again. "However I've also received letters asking me to consider representing Aix," he added.

Grantaire groaned, Prouvaire sighed, while some of the other students shook their heads. "You have to say no to them," Grantaire finally said. "It's like hiding away the Delphic oracle-"

"As if you weren't from the Midi yourself," another young man chimed in.

Bahorel made a sign to his friend to hold his tongue. "Wouldn't Aix be limiting?" he asked Enjolras.

"Likewise with Paris. There is a limit to this city's reach, even if it is influential," Enjolras said. He couldn't help remembering his conversation with Eponine from several nights ago. There was a decided advantage in running in Paris; in fact he was privately more inclined towards it. Even so, he was also aware that the Midi would not be so quick to relinquish him. ' _You have to look past your connections, both here and in Aix,'_ he decided silently as he listened to some animated discussion about Prouvaire's play. Shortly after, he took leave of his friends on the pretext of finalizing the letters and other forms he would have to submit the next day.

When he finally arrived at his lodgings, he found the door open and the windows aglow, signs that his friends were home. He stepped into the front hall in time to nearly collide with Gavroche and Jacques, who were running about.

Jacques giggled when he saw Enjolras and he lost no time in tugging on the young man's coat. "Gavroche, I've gotten higher than you!" he crowed as he tried to climb up Enjolras' arm.

"What are you two playing?" Enjolras asked, just managing to grab Jacques before the boy could slip.

"Colossus," Gavroche answered simply. "Neville will say who the winner is."

"He's here?" Enjolras asked as he looked about for the third Thenardier boy. Neville was still in his nightshirt, which barely came down to the tops of his knees. The stump of his left leg was wrapped in a clean bandage. He was balancing a large book of maps on his knobby knees. The cat, Camille, was curled up next to him. The feline eyed Enjolras drowsily before meowing and scampering off to the kitchen.

"They're not finished," Neville said, gesturing to his brothers.

"It will take a while. How did you get down here?" Enjolras asked, setting Jacques down.

"I hopped."

Gavroche stopped in his tracks. "Combeferre carried you."

"Just for a while," Neville protested. "I can hop now, I'll show you!"

"Now not so fast!" Combeferre called from the top of the stairs. Neville froze while the other boys burst out snickering. Combeferre sighed as he walked down the stairs and sat next to Neville. "Not this week, _petit_ , but soon. After the New Year, we'll see if we can try to make something like a foot for you, and maybe you'll be back at school soon."

Neville hung his head. "That's so long!"

"You can read all the books you want. Some of my books anyway," Combeferre offered. "I'll even tell you more about the moths I have-"

"The butterflies?" Neville asked, eyes widening.

"Moths," Combeferre corrected before shrugging, as if realizing that the child still couldn't know the difference. "How was the trial?" he asked Enjolras.

"Citizen Valjean was pardoned. In fact the Pontmercys are inviting us all to a dinner in two nights to celebrate that," Enjolras answered with a satisfied smile. "The other cases from Toulon will be up for review, but with different attorneys in charge."

"And of course you'll be running for the legislature."

"Of course..." Enjolras trailed off, before realizing that his friend had a knowing grin. "You guessed?"

"Predicted," Combeferre replied. "You would want to turn changes into actual institutions. The Constitution of course is the first step to that, followed by proper representation and legislation."

" _Institutions which will hopefully be relevant to the people,'_ Enjolras thought as Combeferre turned to answer Neville's questions about a drawing in the book. He managed to hold back a chuckle on realizing that the picture in question was one of Joly's doodles of some portion of the gullet. He took the opportunity to go up to his room and straighten out his desk. He was about to begin reviewing his letter regarding his candidacy when he heard the front door open, followed by the telltale sound of Eponine's slightly raspy voice and her laughter as she greeted her brothers and Combeferre. After a short while he heard her footsteps hurrying up the stairs, followed by her usual two light knocks on his door.

"Enjolras, congratulations about the case," Eponine greeted him breathlessly when he opened the door "If there was anyone in Paris who could save Citizen Valjean from La Force or the _bagne_ , it was you."

"Thank you, but it wasn't entirely my doing," Enjolras said, feeling a little awkward at this effusive praise. However it was good to see Eponine smiling so brightly; she had hardly laughed in the aftermath of Neville's amputation and Azelma's moving out. "He wouldn't have been granted pardon if the court decided he did not merit it," he added.

"You made them see it though. You started it all," she replied, using one hand to flick a splinter off his cuff. "And now you'll be a legislator, I'm sure of it," she added in a softer voice.

"Nothing is certain. I haven't even filed the papers yet," he pointed out.

She shook her head. "You will win. I'm so sure of it. You work so hard even now, and more so in the future. I know we'll hardly see you, especially if you move to Aix."

"I never actually said I was leaving. I have not made solid plans as to that direction," Enjolras said. As it was he'd drafted his papers to prepare for his candidacy in Paris, but the possibility of starting over and preparing papers for Aix was not yet entirely out of the question.

"How will you decide then?"

"It will depend where I am needed more."

Eponine bit her lip. "A lot of people here in Paris will miss you if you go," she said.

Enjolras paused, noticing the slightly more somber tone in Eponine's voice. "That is a broad statement to make."

"It is true all the same."

Before Enjolras could reply to this, he saw Gavroche on the stairway. "There's a stick with red hair down to see you. And a lady," Gavroche said.

"Gavroche!" Eponine chided as she tried to grab her brother by the ear. "They can hear you!"

' _If it is who I think it is, he probably will not take offense,'_ Enjolras thought as he went down the stairs. "Good evening Coutard," he greeted warmly. He paused on realizing who'd accompanied his old friend. "And to you as well, Citizenness Torres," he added.

"It's been some time, Enjolras," Coutard said as he set down his hat. "I saw your friend Combeferre on the way out."

"He has night duty at the Necker," Enjolras explained. "How did you two become acquainted?" he asked, indicating Leonor.

"Some of the Courgourde frequent the bookshop where I am," Leonor answered.

Enjolras nodded. Although he already could guess the substance of the imminent conversation, he was not one to turn away a visitor. "To what do I owe this sudden visit?"

Leonor gestured for them to move to a quieter corner of the front hall, away from where the Thenardier boys, including Neville, were playing. "Aix needs a progressive representative," she said in Occitan.

"I've been getting letters to that effect," Enjolras said, also in Occitan. Even after all these years it was still easy for him to lapse back into the patois used in Aix.

"The Courgourde is hoping that _you_ would be the one to run," Coutard explained seriously. He laced his fingers before continuing. "We know you've spent much of your time in Paris, but we need someone who not only is a fighter for justice and basic rights, but who can advocate for the increased autonomy of the departments in the south."

"Our Constitution already grants a certain degree of autonomy to all the departments, not just those in the Midi," Enjolras pointed out. Although some areas such as military, the educational system, and the penal system were still centralized and thus under the jurisdiction of new bureaus set up in Paris, the day to day running of each department was put in the charge of local deputies.

"You of all people should know that it is merely a skeleton, lacking the substance of administration," Coutard muttered. "Well that is why we need legislators to represent the Midi in the upcoming assemblies, but we should work for the unification of the Occitan provinces, not just Provence."

"What end will this proposed unification serve?"

"A region that need not always rely on Paris for every matter of administration," Leonor chimed in. She smoothed out her skirt before continuing, "The concerns of the southern departments can be more directly addressed such as education, protection of workingmen, and even the reunification of previously divided territories."

"Would I be correct in understanding that you believe that a governing body centered in the Midi would be the best way to address these matters?" Enjolras clarified. He suspected that Leonor's concern regarding broken up territories had to do mostly with the Basque region's division between France and Spain, but that was a matter that required a diplomat to address properly.

"Yes of course," Coutard said. "It is clear, isn't it?"

"Is this the position of the Courgourde as a whole?" Enjolras asked. ' _When I last spoke to the leaders here in Paris, a semi-autonomous state was not on their agenda,'_ he recalled. Was it possible though that it had been set aside only for the time being, or at least for as long as they still had a king in France?

"Of many, and it is of course stronger in Aix than in here," Coutard answered.

Enjolras nodded slowly as he looked both Coutard and Leonor in the eye, ensuring he had their attention. "I understand the sentiments, but I believe that turning the Midi into a semi-autonomous region is not necessary. The same general aim would be achieved by legislating and properly enforcing national reforms that would benefit the entirety of France, not only the south."

"Excuse me?" Coutard asked.

"The issue of divided territories will need to be dealt with in other matters. As for other matters, for example your question of workers, those can be addressed with proper codes-not Buonaparte's code, something more well thought out," Enjolras explained. "As for education, a single compulsory curriculum is necessary for equality's sake, but some areas can be adjusted to become more relevant to the needs of some areas. In the end there is still much to gain from strengthening the unification of this country as opposed to leaving every district to better its own affairs."

"A unified France always means far too many compromises," Leonor scoffed. "Far too many compromises for so few benefits!"

"And yet it would be unjust to push for reforms in only one part of the country when all citizens deserve the same rights and opportunities."

"Enjolras, you're talking like a Parisian," Coutard muttered through gritted teeth.

The younger man's brow furrowed. "Why would you say that?"

"You used to say that only the people in a given situation could give the best answers to their problems. How can Paris possibly have any insight on Marseille, Aix, or the furthest reaches of the Pyrenees? You used to agitate for that in school, saying that in Paris people knew nothing of us. You had some trouble with the rectors for saying that."

It was all that Enjolras could do not to cringe on hearing his own words, flung out in a passionate moment during his seventeenth year, thrown right back at him. He had been brash while he and Coutard were in school together, and it had been for his safety that he'd left for Paris a while year ahead of his friend and many other acquaintances who eventually became part of the Courgourde. Any thoughts that he might have been entertaining about returning to Aix were now summarily dispelled; it was clear that working there would put him at the mercy of people whose principles he wasn't wholly aligned with. "I've learned since then that maybe while outside parties such as a central administration cannot provide as much insight, they may be able to give perspective and assistance," he finally said.

Coutard glared at him. "This is only for autonomy, a foot in the door compared to outright secession."

"Which to some people seems to be the best solution," Leonor said. "I am only saying what others have brought up outside the Courgourde, do not mistake me for instigating anything," she added, noticing Coutard's shocked expression.

"I'm not for secession either; it would not benefit either the north or the south," Enjolras said just as the front door swung open and Feuilly peeked in.

Leonor's eyes narrowed at the newcomer. "You're late, Gilles."

"There was a minor sort of scuffle at the atelier. Pay is coming a little late this month," Feuilly said. In fact the end of his scarf was ripped and his knuckles were slightly scraped. "What did I miss?"

"Enjolras is succumbing to the tyranny of Paris over the Midi," Coutard deadpanned.

Feuilly snorted. "If we're to talk of _tyranny_ , what about Algeria?" he asked mildly. "A country has no right to become a colonial master over a people or race that is not its own. It is as deplorable as the partition of Poland-"

"Gilles! We're trying to do something important here!" Leonor scolded. "Save the talk about Algeria and Poland for later."

"Leonor, you know that France under the first Republic was a single state with its departments but still under the same tricolor," Feuilly stated calmly.

Coutard's face was a mask of disgust as he turned away from where Feuilly and Leonor had now started debating. "Has ambition finally gotten the better of you?" he asked Enjolras.

"An ambition to what, might I ask?" Enjolras inquired querulously, managing to keep his voice level.

"To staying in the halls of power, here in Paris," Coutard replied vehemently. "You have grown so comfortable with your life here, in sight of these statesmen, bourgeoisie and so-called thinkers. You've forgotten your roots."

"I haven't but I do not wish to be confined solely to them either," Enjolras retorted. "We are Frenchmen before we are from Provence."

"Not all of us would take that view," Coutard said over the sound of someone hurrying down the stairs. He raised an eyebrow as he saw Eponine. "Your concierge's daughter?"

"Enjolras, have you got a moment?" Eponine asked, hopping off the last step. She held up a copy of the day's edition of the _Moniteur_. "There is a story here about the complaints in the ateliers about the pay."

. "What about it?" Enjolras asked.

"I was thinking of something," Eponine said, glancing at Feuilly, who had somehow stopped in mid-sentence. "Someone will do something about it? I mean there is a campaign coming up, but they won't forget to fix it in the meantime?"

"There is a bureau for workers' concerns. Tomorrow they will probably meet on it and figure out how to advise the atelier owners on this matter," Enjolras replied. He did hope that the bureau would take action immediately, or there would be much more unrest than anyone was prepared to handle.

Eponine folded the paper over. "Someone can write a law. You can write a law."

Leonor looked irately from Feuilly to Eponine. "What do you think you are, a bookshop girl?" she asked in her heavily accented French.

"I do work in a bookshop," Eponine replied, giving her a rather petulant glance.

Leonor's eyes narrowed. "It doesn't concern _you_. "

Eponine's lip curled, as if she was pouting with displeasure. "I've heard you talking and you don't need to get so chatty about the Midi either now that you're here in Paris already."

For a moment Leonor's eyes widened, as if she'd been taken aback. "You would never understand," she snapped, swatting away Feuilly's hand when he tried to take her arm. Someone, probably Gavroche, burst out laughing but Leonor's steely expression did not change. "Now we were having a _serious_ conversation here-"

"I only meant to ask _him_ a question," Eponine retorted, giving Enjolras a side glance. "You and Feuilly can keep on talking and not mind me."

"Citizenness, we were in the middle of a discussion too," Coutard chimed in, but a little less impatiently. He sighed as he looked at Enjolras. "That cause aside, we still need you in Aix. You do not even need to mention it in the meantime..."

"You know that the issue will not simply die down," Enjolras pointed out. Even if he ran without speaking of this matter, or even if he tried to suppress it, the question would still grow in a manner almost akin to a cancer.

Coutard swallowed hard and nodded before asking in French. "So you will not represent Aix then?"

Enjolras looked his old friend in the face, knowing that it was possible for Coutard to launch into another attack or to simply walk out of the discussion altogether. "I'm sorry, but I will not. I believe other representatives can serve your cause better."

Coutard's shoulders slumped while Feuilly merely shrugged, as if he'd already guessed the outcome of this conversation. Something like a smile had formed on Eponine's face, or at least it seemed to be before she rushed over to keep Jacques from sitting on Neville's injured leg.

As for Leonor, she was silent for a moment but her eyes flashed with fury when she looked at Enjolras. "You, Citizen, are a disappointment."

' _Better than a hypocrite,'_ Enjolras thought. "I am sorry that I cannot be of any help to you in this endeavours," he said seriously. "I am sure though there is no shortage of those who can."

Coutard nodded curtly. "Perhaps one day you will reconsider and come back to help in some capacity. Thank you for your time anyway." He put his hat back on and looked at Leonor and Feuilly. "I'll have to speak with my friends. Will you two be coming?"

"We'll follow in an hour," Leonor replied calmly. "Next time, you have to stay out of other people's business," she hissed furiously at Eponine.

"I _live_ here," Eponine retorted.

"You're just playing at these things. Go and take care of your brothers," Leonor said more vehemently.

The younger girl clenched her right hand into a fist. "I know a lot of things, you can't tell me to shoo!"

"Enough of this," Enjolras warned both of them, taking a step forward in case there was any need to intervene. He saw that Feuilly had already grabbed Leonor's arm, but she was shaking him off again, while scolding him in Occitan. "Eponine, control your temper please," Enjolras told her in an undertone.

"She was being rude," Eponine muttered, glaring in Leonor's direction.

"You didn't have to return it," he replied as he grasped her shoulder firmly to steer her away from where Feuilly and Leonor were now arguing.

"She was being rude to you too. I couldn't get every word but I did see it," Eponine pointed out. "You can't tell me not to say anything when something is wrong, Enjolras. You did the same thing all the time but you got shot at, and that's the only difference between you and me."

Enjolras gritted his teeth with irritation at the girl's recalcitrant reply."You might make an enemy you cannot handle," he warned.

She rolled her eyes. "I have been in trouble before, I s'pose I can manage it," she said, stepping away from him.

' _She really has no sense of self-preservation,'_ Enjolras thought. "Where are you going?"

"To the kitchen. I have to take care of my brothers," she said, making a poor imitation of Leonor's tone.

Jacques and Neville looked around warily, while Gavroche snickered mischievously. "The hens win over the cocks!"

Feuilly smiled mirthlessly at him. "I'm sorry. I think we might have overstayed our welcome tonight. See you all tomorrow," he said, directing his words to Enjolras, before rushing Leonor out of the door.

"Why is Ponine angry?" Jacques asked innocently.

"I'll tell you when you're bigger," Enjolras replied before going upstairs to finish preparing his letters and documents. He even made sure to compose a letter to his parents, informing them about his decision to run in Paris as well as his reasons for refusing to represent Aix. All the while he could hear the usual sounds of the Thenardiers at dinner, and then later retiring for the night, but he knew that joining them was out of the question.

It was already almost daybreak by the time the candle on his desk finally burned itself out, and he had affixed his signature to the last of the necessary papers. ' _Maybe I will find time to sleep after filing this,'_ he decided as he rubbed his temples. He blinked a few times to stave away the ache building up behind his eyes before going downstairs to find some much needed nourishment.

Even before he got to the kitchen he could already detect the smell of slightly burned coffee. Eponine was already at the table, reading through a thin volume that Enjolras recognized as his copy of ' _Candide'._ The room was lit rather dimly by only a single candle, but Enjolras could see the rather drawn look on Eponine's face, as well as the way she narrowed her eyes at her reading.

At the sound of his footsteps she looked his way and smiled briefly at him. "Had a good evening?" she asked him mildly.

"Busy," he replied, noticing that she had already left a cup of coffee for him as well as a baguette. He searched for another candle in the kitchen and lit it, then carefully propped it up on the table.

"Thank you," she said, smiling more warmly. She placed her finger between the pages to mark her place in the book. "I really say all the wrong things, don't I?"

"You were right that Citizenness Torres was being rude," he conceded. He was not sure what to make of her remarks regarding his own imprudence; he would have to ask her about it some other time, perhaps when he was better rested. He took a sip of his coffee, managing to keep a straight face despite the rather acrid taste.

After a while he felt the slightly twisted fingers of her maimed hand meeting his palm. "I'll go with you when you file that application. It's close by Ravigard's place anyway," she said.

"Why would you?" he asked curiously.

"It's not every day that I see my neighbour become a candidate," she replied.

He nodded after a moment. "As long as you will not be late at the shop. I don't want you to forget your responsibilities, Eponine."

She only smiled by way of reply before putting the book on the table, and reaching for the baguette to break off some pieces for their breakfast.


	30. Chapter 30: The Backroom Revisited

_A/N: Thanks to everyone for the reviews!_

**Chapter 30: The Backroom Revisited**

"No, no, go away!"

In a moment Eponine was at her brothers' bedside. "Jacques, wake up!" she hissed, shaking the little boy awake. It was dark but she managed to find the blanket that covered the child's face, and she pulled it loose.

Jacques' eyes shot open as he gasped for breath. "Ponine? Vroche?" he whimpered

"We're here, Jacques," Gavroche said drowsily, having been woken up by his brother's thrashing. "Go back to sleep, _mome_."

Jacques shook his head even as he clung to Eponine for dear life. "Neville?"

"Over there, look," Eponine whispered, pointing to where Neville was still dozing peacefully in the only other bed in the room. She sighed on feeling the damp blanket that Jacques had been using. "Gavroche, you have to move there now."

"Again?" Gavroche groaned.

"Would you rather stay on the floor, like I do?" Eponine asked. Gavroche yawned before crossing the room and slipping in beside Neville, taking care not to jostle his brother's injured leg.

' _I'm going to have to do the wash myself,'_ Eponine thought resignedly as she picked up Jacques and began rummaging about for a clean shirt or a blanket for the child to use. These nightmares had been happening even before Christmas; in fact she couldn't really remember the last time she had a full night's sleep. "What did you dream about, _petit?"_ she asked Jacques as she managed to get him into one of her old coats.

Jacques sniffed. "The big man with the big lady, trying to grab me out of my bed."

Eponine bit her lip as she buttoned up the coat up to Jacques' neck. The 'big lady' had to be Citizenness Allen, but who was the 'big man'? ' _I don't think even he really knows, it was probably too dark all the time for him to see,'_ she realized as she sat down on the pallet she'd been using as a bed ever since her brothers came home. She felt Jacques curl up against her as his fingers clutched at her chemise. "You're safe now, _petit_ ," she murmured, lightly rubbing his shoulder to soothe him as he settled down and buried his face in her clothes. ' _None of this would have happened if I'd been watching them better,'_ she thought for a moment but she shook her head to clear away the thought.

She felt their cat, Camille, stretch and then snuggle up next to them. "You help me keep watch, okay?" she whispered to the cat. The feline looked up at her and meowed before moving to lie across Eponine's legs. She sighed as she leaned against the wall but did not dare to close her eyes till she felt her brother's grip relax as he fell into a light sleep.

It only felt like moments had passed till she woke up to footsteps in the hall. ' _That can't be Combeferre coming in from the Necker,'_ she thought drowsily as she tried to set Jacques down on the pallet, only to have him whimper in protest. "I'll just be getting us breakfast, _petit_ ," she said as she awkwardly bundled him up in the blankets before quickly searching for her clothes.

She rushed downstairs in time to see Enjolras already in the front hall, putting on his overcoat. "Oh, you're going so early already?" she asked by way of greeting.

"It's not that early; it's already half past six," he replied. "I have to finish some cases before going to a meeting about the elections."

"The campaign isn't beginning for a week, and already you're working so hard!"

"Three days. Today is the 31st of December, it begins on the second of January," he corrected her. "Jacques had a nightmare again, didn't he?"

She nodded. "How would you know?"

"I heard him crying," Enjolras said. "How is he?"

"Sleeping. If you heard him that means you were awake for such a long time too," she pointed out.

"I had to finish some reading," he said as he finished buttoning up his coat.

"Speaking of reading, I'll give you back your copy of 'Candide' tonight."

"You're almost through with it?"

"A page or two left. I didn't know Voltaire could write something that seems like such a long joke."

Enjolras smiled at this. "That's an odd way to put it. To be more exact, it is ridiculing some philosophies."

"At least you aren't silly like that teacher in the book, Pangloss. You know that this isn't the best world there is," Eponine said, covering her hands with her shawl for warmth. "Well I shan't stop you from going out at this hour, though it is awfully cold. You take care of yourself."

"And you as well. Till later, Eponine," Enjolras said, nodding to her before he went out the door.

' _Even on New Year's Eve, he has to be so busy!'_ she thought with dismay as she went to the kitchen. She could remember that this night had also been an occasion for celebration back when her family still had the inn. Last year, Azelma had at least gone through the trouble of getting them an extra crust of bread apiece that night.

She couldn't help but smile when she saw that there was already coffee in the pot as well as bread on the table. ' _Something more for the boys,'_ she resolved as she began to check the cupboards. Aside from bread and coffee, the only foods left in the kitchen were three eggs. ' _If only lovely things like pastries and beefsteak weren't so expensive,'_ she couldn't help thinking as she put the eggs in a pan of water. While her brothers didn't complain, she did see how wide their eyes got whenever they passed a patisserie or whenever friends brought over food. ' _At least we're managing,'_ she reminded herself as she heard her brothers' footsteps upstairs.

Although she was a little late at the shop that day owing to the fact that she had to clean up after Jacques, Ravigard did not mention the matter. In fact he hardly spoke two words till he suddenly remarked some time half-past eleven, "A new year is a good thing, but the one that is coming up might mean trouble."

"What sort of trouble?" Eponine asked as she set aside some texts she'd been arranging.

The gentleman muttered something as he continued filling out some forms. "Charles Jeanne is running for the legislature. Well that should be quite a boon to the extremists, having Jeanne in the Halles, and your friend Enjolras also running too. Rumor has it that each party will announce its candidates tonight."

"Parties?"

"Yes. Heaven knows why there are _three_ parties this time instead of just two," he grumbled. He squinted as he looked out the window. "I have some things to see to for the rest of the day. You can finish that tomorrow," he suddenly said.

Eponine gave him a perplexed look. "Tomorrow is a holiday."

Ravigard shrugged. "The day after then. I've got an appointment I can't miss now." He opened a drawer and handed her ten francs in addition to her wages for the end of the month. "Get a good dinner for your brothers."

"Thank you-"Eponine began before she found herself being escorted out of the shop by her employer. Before she could ask, she saw that Ravigard had turned around and locked the door. "Citizen, is everything well?"

"Yes, yes. It's not your concern," Ravigard said hurriedly as he put on his hat. "See you in two days," he added as he hurried off down the street.

Eponine shook her head at this odd turn of events. ' _Perhaps he has someone important and impatient to meet,'_ she decided as she walked in the other direction. She did not have to go far till she noticed two familiar figures headed her way. "Courfeyrac! Paulette!"

"We were just looking for you," Courfeyrac greeted. As usual he was dressed sharply, with a bright purple waistcoat peeping out his partly buttoned coat. Paulette had a new white muff and a dainty cape over her light blue dress. Both of them had taken great pains to make sure that their hair was styled according to the latest fashions; Courfeyrac's hair was curled while Paulette had pinned back her tresses in a sort of twist at the back of her head.

Eponine couldn't help but feel more than a little envious at their apparel. "Why were you looking for me? You two look like you have some fashionable sort of lunch to attend."

"Not lunch but some calls to make," Courfeyrac replied rather seriously. "We all have to meet at the Musain tonight, at seven-thirty. We have to talk about Enjolras' campaign."

"At seven-thirty? I have to take care of my brothers."

"We just came from your house. Citizenness Leclair said she'd be more than happy to watch the boys, well at least Neville and Jacques. Gavroche wants to come along," Paulette replied cheerily.

Eponine cringed at the idea of her brother adding his quips to a serious discussion. "I s'pose I can't do much to stop him," she said.

"I wonder who he's learning it from," Courfeyrac quipped. "I don't know if Enjolras ever told you, but he's not borrowing a sou from his parents for this campaign."

Eponine's eyes widened. "But wouldn't that be the sensible thing?"

"This is Enjolras we're talking about. He prefers being right over being sensible, and he has his reasons such as avoiding controversy, which is perfectly legitimate, actually," Courfeyrac explained.

"How will he manage it? Will he ever accept anyone's help?"

"Combeferre will reason with him, the rest of us will argue with him, and if not there's always you to convince him."

"Courfeyrac!"

"He does listen to you," Paulette said quickly. "Now Maurice stop being horrid to Eponine and let her go back to work."

"Citizen Ravigard said I could take the rest of the day elsewhere," Eponine said.

"That's good, you can come with me then to get some nice things," Paulette said, taking Eponine's arm. "There, you won't have to leave your poor, pregnant mistress alone," she said teasingly to Courfeyrac.

Courfeyrac merely grinned as he hailed a fiacre and then Paulette gave the driver the address of their destination. "Remember, we have to be at the Musain, at seven-thirty," he said to Paulette and Eponine, kissing their hands before helping them into the carriage. Eponine couldn't help but feel her face burn at this gesture; no man had done that to her since her first days with Theodule. ' _He's just being a gentleman, he doesn't mean much with it especially with Paulette around,'_ she reminded herself as the fiacre began to move.

Paulette fiddled with her combs as the fiacre turned a corner. "He's so charming..."

"But?" Eponine asked.

Paulette's eyes were wan as her hand wandered to the curve of her belly. "I wish it could have been different. He doesn't love me, you know. I'm not sure if I can be a mother to a de Courfeyrac."

Eponine bit her lip, remembering the whispers about the beginnings of Courfeyrac and Paulette's liaison. "When will the child be born?" she asked in an effort to change the topic.

"May, I think," Paulette replied, smiling briefly. "I hope to feel her moving soon."

"How sure are you it is a girl?"

"No, but I've heard that the way I carry means I'm having a girl. Besides, a boy would be horrible, just imagine another little Maurice running about! I might go mad!"

Eponine couldn't help but giggle at the idea of a boy with Paulette's lovely hair and Courfeyrac's mischievous eyes. "The little devil would be worse than Gavroche." She grabbed at the seat as the fiacre came to a jerky stop outside a milliner's shop. "Oh, I s'pose we're here now," she said, stepping out first so she could help her friend. As she looked about she caught sight of a scrawny figure dressed in a rather ludicrous green frock coat. A pair of thick spectacles obscured his face; in fact the only natural distinguishing features there were a hooked nose and a scraggly gray beard.

This man paused in his tracks. "Eponine, what are you doing here?" he snarled.

The sound of this familiar voice made the girl halt as well. "Father!"

Thenardier grinned at her, or at least his expression was what passed for a grin; he'd lost at least one more tooth and now his maw had a frightful appearance. "Visiting like one of those bourgeoisies, I see?"

"It's for work," Eponine said, glancing over her shoulder at Paulette, who'd shrunk back at the sight of the older Thenardier. She stepped between her father and her friend. "I'll go on after you, Paulette," she said furtively.

Thenardier laughed as Paulette fled into the shop. "A scared one, isn't she? So you've got some business of your own down in this neighbourhood? Won't you tell your dear Papa about it?"

Eponine shook her head. "Nothing that can help you much. But what about you? It's been some time since I saw you; it was summer, wasn't it?"

"Of course you remember the Rue Plumet," Thenardier sneered as he seized her arm. "Come now, I'm not planning to rob that house, you needn't start talking of biscuits this time."

She tried to shake him off but his grip was too strong. "Then what are you doing here?"

Thenardier's face was something between a leer and a grin as he showed some sealed letters to his daughter. It was evident that he had come in contact with some fine scribe or engraver, judging by the quality of the paper and the calligraphy. "As good as passports, to important places. You know your way about; you dress well, so you can help me here."

"What, just like in that old hovel where we all got caught!"

"You silly, I haven't a lair for that sort of doing. I will go in this time myself. You will be there waiting in their sitting rooms, you and I can be an old gentleman and his lovely daughter together. We will get to talk to all these grand folks face to face instead of begging at their doors."

Eponine laughed. "I don't know anyone that important."

"You were at the Rue de Bac, I heard that it was you who trapped Citizenness Allen the day after," Thenardier said accusingly. "Or was it one of the young men, those who've been keeping you."

"It was me," Eponine replied quickly. If she mentioned Enjolras' part in the matter, she knew she could expect to find Patron-Minette or their associates again at their door. "You left Azelma behind. You didn't tell me that Maman was dead. I know what happened to Cosette's father." She saw her father stiffen at these charges, but no words left his throat. "I shan't help you a bit after all of that. You'll send us all back into the gutter."

"Ingrate!"

"Go away! I'll call the gendarmes if you don't shoo! "

Thenardier looked around, realizing that other people were giving them wary he looks. He glared at his daughter before muttering a curse and walking off down the street. Eponine watched him go for a few moments and then rushed into the shop, nearly knocking over a milliner who was walking by with a tower of hats.

"Eponine! What was that about?" Paulette asked concernedly. "I thought I was going to have to call the gendarmes or some big fellow!"

"My father, but I do not concern myself with him anymore," Eponine replied breathlessly. There was no use hoping that Thenardier did not know her address or her usual whereabouts. All she could wish for was that he would not take the effort to harry them any further.

"Your father? He doesn't look a bit like you," Paulette said.

"I take more after my Maman," Eponine said dismissively as she snatched up a crimson ribbon to test its color against her lightly tanned skin, as she'd seen Musichetta do once. She picked through more ribbons till she also found a purple one that matched Azelma's favourite dress.

Paulette smiled approvingly. "You'd look lovely with that. One of these days, you should come with us, well maybe not me since I might be out of shape, but at least with the others to a dance."

Eponine shook her head. "What a fright I would be," she muttered. She had her back to a mirror as she said this. Had she turned around or even given the glass a side glance, she might have remembered that her hair had finally grown long enough for her to pin it up and away from her face. She might have found that her clothes now fit better. She might have also seen that her pallor had given way to a healthy rosiness in her cheeks, her brow was a great deal smoother, her eyes were bright and lively and the angles of her chin had finally gained some semblance of softness. She was still rather thin but no longer so ungainly, and her lips would never be plump but they were beginning to form an exquisite shape. One might have said that beauty was slowly but surely coming to her at last, but Eponine's impatient gaze saw otherwise. ' _I shan't ever be as pretty as Cosette, or even as you, Paulette,'_ she would have said if she had been in a more petulant mood. As it was, she simply let Paulette prattle on for much of the afternoon about anecdotes of her early days in Paris and various other plans for the next year. At about six they made a detour to bring some cakes to the younger Thenardier boys, as well as to meet Gavroche. Then they proceeded to the Cafe Musain.

The front room of this establishment was quite full when they arrived; in fact some of the patrons were standing about on the Place Saint-Michel and smoking. Some of their faces were familiar to Eponine; these were the students, clerks, shopkeepers and teachers who went by Ravigard's bookshop. There were a few distinguished gentlemen in this room. One of them was in the middle of a great harangue.

"I don't see Courfeyrac. Where could he be?" Eponine asked.

Gavroche stood on tiptoe before climbing to the cafe windowsill to take a look. "So many stuffed shirts and coats about. No sign of him or the others."

Paulette shook her head before suddenly waving to a woman serving a table near the door. "Louison!"

Louison nodded to Paulette. "Rue de Gres."

Eponine pulled Gavroche off the sill before quickly following Paulette down the narrow Rue de Gres. In the dark she could distinguish a small stairway leading to a room a good way off from the Musain's front door. "Up there?" she asked Paulette.

"It's the only place, aside from Grantaire's room over there," Paulette replied, pointing to a squat house nearby. "Well the windows are dark, so that leaves one other choice," she said.

Gavroche lost no time in racing up the stairs and pounding on the door. His last knock nearly hit Bossuet in the chest when he opened the door. "Easy now Gavroche. What brings you here?"

"Being a gentleman," Gavroche replied, gesturing to the women.

"Isn't Courfeyrac with you?" Bossuet asked Eponine and Paulette.

"Thought we might ask the same thing of you," Eponine replied. "Why are we up here? Why is the front room so full?"

"There's a meeting tonight, at nine in fact: an official announcement of the candidates representing the _Radicaux_ party; that's Enjolras' party as far as these elections are concerned," Bossuet said. "Every man is picking his side now, except for Lafayette of course; he has to be the fulcrum."

Eponine's brow furrowed at this reference to levers. What she did know of parties was from what she'd read of 1789 up to the Terror, and she couldn't help but feel apprehension at the recollection of these stories. "But there are three parties?" she clarified.

"The _Radicaux,_ the _Democrates—_ that's a party organized by some former Feuillants, and the _Constitutionalists—_ which ironically is somewhat ultra in standing."

"Who decides now who's in a party or not?"

"Birds of a feather—or at least the same cap. If not, those who at least think they are suited to each other," Bossuet replied cryptically as he stepped aside to let the newcomers in.

Eponine somehow felt as if she was treading upon some once impenetrable boundary that had suddenly been breached. ' _Perhaps no woman has ever been here before,'_ she thought, noticing Paulette's uneasy look. Yet when they entered they found that Claudine, Musichetta, and Leonor had already taken a corner for themselves. Feuilly and Joly were in the middle of a game of cards in another corner. Bahorel and Grantaire were starting up a game of dominoes. Enjolras and Combeferre were quietly discussing something in the fourth corner of the room.

Combeferre raised his head and nodded to the new arrivals. "Where's Courfeyrac?"

"We don't know," Gavroche replied, adjusting his cap before making a beeline to where Grantaire was.

Paulette looked around. "He said to be here at eight!" she muttered indignantly as she took a seat near Claudine's chair. She winced as she wiggled her toes. "All that going about has made my feet so sore!"

"You should take care not to strain yourself, or you will definitely upset your humors-"Joly called before Musichetta gave him a warning look.

Leonor crossed her arms and rolled her eyes. "I knew he'd be late even if he was the one who called this meeting. Probably chasing some skirt."

Paulette's eyes narrowed at her. "What did you say?"

"I said that-oh, I am sorry, is he a particular friend of yours?" Leonor asked cordially.

"I wouldn't pick the word 'friend' to simply describe him," Paulette fumed.

Eponine had to fight hard to keep a straight face even as she saw Musichetta begin to explain the situation surreptitiously to Leonor. ' _Do I have to work with her?'_ she complained silently. She looked at Claudine, who gave her a warning look. Eponine sighed and bit her lip; definitely she was expected to be on her best behaviour at least in this context. ' _If she calls me something horrible, it better not be when the others are here,'_ she thought, looking up just as Prouvaire and Azelma entered the backroom.

."Didn't know you were coming here, Ponine," Azelma greeted impetuously.

"I'm surprised to see you here too," Eponine replied, managing a smile. "Too bad you're wearing blue today; I have a ribbon that goes well with your purple dress."

Azelma quickly snatched up her sister's gift. "How did you get such satin?" she asked incredulously. "Jehan, what do you think, I could wear this in my hair when we read another play of yours?" she called to the poet.

Prouvaire scooted back from where Bahorel was trying to drag him into his game. "It's a bit much even for the role of a Castilian princess, isn't it?" he asked gaily.

"No worse than your mountebank costume," Azelma said teasingly as she clutched Prouvaire's arm. "Well if not for that dress, then for whatever I'll wear to the next salon or the next dance-"

Prouvaire reddened slightly but he did not step away from her. "We haven't been invited to any sort of event yet-"

"And why not, Jehan?"

"Because everyone is too busy for revelry; there is a time for such things, Azelma, you'll see."

Eponine wanted desperately for Azelma to disappear, more so when she caught the look of concern in Musichetta's eyes, and the beginnings of a smirk on Leonor's lips. ' _At least she heeds Prouvaire,'_ she thought, noticing that Prouvaire's patient reply was enough to quell Azelma's queries. Still, the memory of her sister's impetuous nature as well as Enjolras' story of his visit to Prouvaire's quarters had her biting her lip, if only to prevent from making a hurtful or harsh remark. She turned her attention back to where Claudine and the other ladies were avidly discussing an article about the conditions of girls working in factories.

After a while the backroom door swung open, this time admitting Courfeyrac, Marius, Cosette, and Navet. All four of them were out of breath and on closer inspection anyone could see that their shoes were wet. "Hooray, another comrade!" Navet said, bounding over to where Gavroche was seated.

Gavroche stuck out his tongue at him. "You have a frightful wig on," he said, gesturing to his friend's still wild and unruly hair.

"You said to come at seven-thirty, Maurice," Paulette called to Courfeyrac.

"And we would have too if not for an omnibus accident on the way," Courfeyrac replied, sitting next to her. He shrugged resignedly when she pushed him away.

"Did we miss anything?" Marius asked as he and Cosette found seats.

"We haven't exactly called this meeting to order since its main convenor has only arrived just now," Bahorel called. "It's been years since you were in this backroom, Pontmercy."

"Years?" Cosette inquired. "What do they mean?"

Marius scratched his head. "The last time I was here was the same winter when I first left my grandfather's house."

"When a single line proved to be the end of the apotheosis," Grantaire muttered before Bahorel cuffed him discreetly. The drunkard grinned before taking another long swig of his absinthe.

At this point Enjolras and Combeferre ended their discussion and moved out of the corner. Bahorel shoved away the dominoes while Feuilly put away the cards. Even Navet and Gavroche, who'd begun a sort of scuffle, fell silent. Eponine pulled her chair closer to Cosette's.

Enjolras was serious, but not grave as he waited for everyone to settle down. It was clear that he had been contemplating more than just the hubbub in the backroom. "As you all probably know, it was _not_ I who called for this meeting," he said, fixing his gaze momentarily on Courfeyrac. "I know that some, if not most of you will also be attending the _Radicaux_ party's meeting later. There will be a plan and agenda to be discussed there that will concern all the candidates for the Parisian legislature."

Marius blinked, clearly stunned at the use of the word ' _Radicaux'_. "Who else is in the party?"

"Charles Jeanne," Feuilly replied, rubbing a smudge off his coat.

"Yes, him of course. The other candidates from the party are Etienne Blanchard from the Marais, Gustave Paquet from the area of Challiot, and Marcel Turpin from around Montmartre," Enjolras said.

"Now who are the ones in the middle- if one can call it a middle?" Musichetta asked.

Prouvaire shifted in his seat. "The only confirmed name I've heard of is that of Jerome Bamatabois. I knew him from school before he decided to take up law. Rather gamesome fellow, I liked him a lot."

"So who is in the third party then?" Eponine asked.

"Gregoire Cadet, Florentin Ouvrard, Eugene Rossi, and two unconfirmed others," Claudine replied.

"Rossi, I know. He was from the Polytechnique," Courfeyrac chimed in.

"And a friend," Enjolras remarked. He paused as he regarded each member of the group. "Your being here is definitely appreciated. Yet it would not be just to ask for assistance in this campaign, especially since all of you have much to deal with outside of these elections-"

"Enjolras, we know. You want to do things right, you don't want to hinder our freedom to vote simply because of our affiliations, and you have no intention of asking a sou from anyone especially your parents. Not all of us are registered in the Latin Quartier and thus we should also be just as concerned about the campaigns in our respective places," Courfeyrac interrupted. He chuckled on seeing Enjolras' brow furrow, a sure sign that his friend had been caught off-guard by having many of his arguments thrown back at him. "That doesn't change the two facts: you need people to help you, and that we're the friends who would be more than honoured to do it."

"Told you. You were going to be overruled," Combeferre said smugly.

Enjolras nodded slowly. "How do you plan to do it?"

"Run the presses!" Navet interrupted cheerily. He stopped and looked about when he realized that some of the men and nearly all the women were staring at him. "Well that's what the swells downstairs want to do," he added.

"Whatever happened to your old printing presses? I remember you had a newsletter, up till last year," Marius remarked.

"It was destroyed in a raid. That is why we had to rely on some other presses or other methods of dissemination prior to Lamarque's funeral," Combeferre explained.

"I could ask Citizen Ravigard if he can print some materials," Eponine said. "Hopefully he'll be in a better mood when I next see him."

"It would do good to ask at other places anyway; all the other candidates will need a printing press at some point between now and the second week of February, the week of the elections," Enjolras replied.

"Some of us can get you into gatherings and salons. That's one way to be heard aside from a public forum," Prouvaire said. "We can't underestimate the word of mouth."

"Sounds cloak-and-dagger," Musichetta remarked.

"Sounds necessary," Bahorel muttered. "Even if we do not like it entirely."

"Like what sorts of places?" Enjolras asked worriedly.

Marius and Cosette exchanged looks. "Not grandfather's salon," Cosette said firmly. "He'd be positively apoplectic, and so would some of his friends."

"Pontmercy, don't you have a cousin who is a lancer?" Bossuet asked.

"Yes, but he is in Dijon now."

Cosette smiled sweetly and shrugged. "When he returns, _Marius_ and Citizen Courfeyrac will talk to him," she said, shooting a glance at Azelma.

"Why me?" Courfeyrac spluttered.

"Because you could convince him," Claudine said, elbowing Combeferre slightly. "He's a fellow of rather interesting character."

Eponine glanced at Enjolras, only to see that he was also trying to conceal any expression of mirth. ' _A face to face encounter would be out of the question now,'_ she thought as the discussion turned to other opportunities to make important contacts and set up meetings aside from any official campaign sorties. Once again, she was going to have to find some way to thank Cosette for her intervention.

Eventually Combeferre checked his watch. "We have a quarter of an hour till nine. We should start going to the front room of the Musain if we're attending the plenary meeting."

Cosette yawned and shook her head. "We've had a long day; we'll go ahead back to the Marais. Our apologies for not attending."

" There is no need to apologize. Thank you for your assistance, both of you," Enjolras said to the Pontmercys. He shook his head with disgust on seeing Grantaire leaning back in his seat, one hand still cradling his absinthe. "I take you will not be joining us, Grantaire?"

Grantaire groaned. "In a moment, Enjolras. Let me complete my sojourn with Morpheus."

"Not quite the deity," Bossuet laughed. "I'll take care of him. He'll be sober soon enough."

The rest of the group began to exit the backroom, some through the Rue de Gres and others through the interior corridor leading to the Musain's front room. Eponine caught up with Enjolras as he went through the former passage. "You won't have enough hours in a day for this, I know it," she told him bluntly, pulling him aside so the others could walk on ahead.

"You sound so certain of the fact," he remarked as the door shut nearby, leaving only the two of them in that long corridor.

"I know. I'd cross Paris and walk every which way for letters and coins, and I was never back by vespers or midnight," she said. "You'll be doing that in a quartier and talking, but with all your cases too?"

"I shall simply have to manage and make best use of my time," he answered in a level tone.

' _Probably will not eat and sleep again,'_ she thought, gritting her teeth already at this idea. "I can help-"

"You're already going to ask Citizen Ravigard for his assistance. That is already a step enough."

"I can read and write. If you need a note done or a message given, I could do it."

Enjolras shook his head. "You already have a great deal to manage on your own, Eponine. I do not wish to burden you with this."

"So do you. You'll need my help one day soon, you'll see," she insisted. It was hard to tell if he nodded or made any sort of answer to this, but she could at least tell that he did not turn away or brush past her as they walked through the rest of the corridor.

She took a deep breath as they arrived at the door between the corridor and the backroom. "You think these plans will work?"

He clasped her shoulder lightly. "I have faith in what you all can do. It's almost too much to ask." He glanced at the door before them. "I hope they will listen."

"They will," Eponine reassured him with a smile. ' _They'll like you as much as I do,'_ she thought as she stepped aside to let Enjolras open the door and greet the gathering beyond it.


	31. Chapter 31: Of Marks and names

**Chapter 31: On Marks and Names**

Even though much of his time was now devoted to the legislature campaign, Enjolras still had some work to do with regard to a number of cases he had taken on towards the end of the year. The fifth day of January 1833 found him in a small room at the Palais de Justice, reviewing some documents in preparation for some meetings with clients. Despite the chaos of the other lawyers going in and out of the office that morning, he remained relatively undisturbed in one corner with a pile of paper in front of him. One might have said that his calm demeanor actually concealed a growing sense of ennui; the papers on his desk were all about property litigations and some small business quarrels, most of which required the negotiation of monetary settlements. ' _If one could abolish property, there would be maybe half as less litigation in the world,'_ he thought as he began taking notes on a long list of assets.

In the middle of this state of orderly chaos, an indignant shout cut through the air. "I'll have a word with the editor! Do they think that the  _Democrates_  are just some sort of joke?" a dark-haired young man bellowed over the laughter of several other lawyers. He was clutching a rather crumpled sheet of paper, trying to keep it out of the reach of the onlookers.

"The joke is in your party being too stingy to pay for the printing of your leaflets!" one rakish-looking fellow called. "What, it is  _part_  of the truth!" he taunted, dodging his colleague's fists.

"You have to admit, the rendering is artistic-" a more elderly attorney snickered. "Bamatabois, you can try to grow a sense of humor!"

"Not with this!" the irate young attorney hissed. He glanced at Enjolras. "You wouldn't let someone just get away with this sort of defamation!"

Enjolras wordlessly took the paper being held out to him. He sighed on seeing that it was none other than the latest copy of _Charivari_ , a satirical newspaper that had some popularity among the more mischievous denizens of the Latin Quartier. Grantaire was in the habit of bringing copies of this paper to the Musain or to Corinth, and loudly commenting on each page's contents. This particular edition of the  _Charivari_  featured a grossly exaggerated drawing of the candidates of each political party vying for the seats in the Parisian legislature. Unfortunately, the contenders from the  _Democrates_  party were depicted as beggars holding out empty bowls while the candidates from the two other parties were revelling in piles of paper and ink.

After a few moments he handed the cartoon back to Bamatabois. "What sort of action will you expect then?" he asked his friend.

"A recantation...no the damage has been done." Bamatabois straightened out his ruffled out clothing. "A very thorough apology at the very least, and a promise to never repeat such slander of this sort."

"Without a doubt, you will be able to extract the first. The second however would bring up a question of the relations between parties and the press," Enjolras pointed out. "Now since the  _Charivari_  is not considered to be a factual newspaper but more of a view to events, you might find yourself stepping as well on questions regarding opinions."

"Enjolras, it was not your party that was vilified," Bamatabois hissed. "You would not be sitting there so calmly if the _Radicaux_  party was concerned!"

"Perhaps not, but I should eventually be more concerned about other causes for a less kindly opinion from individuals in and out of the newspapers."

Bamatabois muttered something under his breath before tearing the page into small pieces and then stalking back to another desk. Enjolras couldn't help but feel some sympathy for his fellow newcomer to the campaign scene. One of the reasons that the  _Radicaux_  party was not in the same bind as the  _Democrates_  was because of the Amis and their associates; they had lost no time in re-establishing old contacts or making the necessary inquiries that allowed the  _Radicaux_  party to avail the services of several large printing shops and bookbinders for a much reduced cost, or even for nothing at all. The _Constitutionalists_  party had also achieved a similar aim in publishing its materials, leaving the  _Democrates_  party with the dregs of the lot.

The sound of rustling came from Bamatabois desk, followed by a muffled curse. Enjolras looked up and saw the other young man's countenance turn pale. "What is it?"

Bamatabois shook his head. "A sign," he said, indicating a paper he had in hand.

Enjolras went over and saw that Bamatabois was holding what appeared to be a letter. Underneath the spidery script that covered the paper, there were some brownish lines that formed a  _fleur-de-lis_  on the sheet. "Where did this paper come from?" Enjolras asked.

"This was found in my client's house," Bamatabois said with dismay as he smoothed out the note. "This letter does not make sense either, but some fool inspector gave it in as evidence."

"You will be thanking that inspector shortly when you turn in that letter to the Department of Surveillance," Enjolras said. "It is in your interest to know if you ought to be defending your client from the present charge, or a different charge of suspected conspiracy." It had been some time since Enjolras had seen a  _fleur-de-lis_  or heard the words ' _emigre_ ' and 'counterrevolution' in the same sentence, but he was not one to believe that the threat had been thoroughly vanquished after the incident in the wine market. ' _If ever, the mind behind this has been biding its time and maybe is now making a reconnaissance,'_ he noted.

Bamatabois frowned as he mulled this over. "How does one mark the paper this way?"

"The easiest way is with a lemon on the writer's end, and a lamp or candle at the recipient's," Enjolras said. Back in Aix, he, Coutard and a few like-minded friends had learned this method from some of the older students who'd utilized this as a means of passing along test answers or letters from forbidden sweethearts. ' _Though in our case we didn't write about girls aside from Marianne,'_ he thought.

Bamatabois' eyebrows shot up. "Sounds like a child's method or a kitchen-maid's work."

"There are more sophisticated solutions," Enjolras replied. He couldn't help but smirk at the memory of how nearly two years ago Combeferre had been working with friends from the Polytechnique to make an improvement on invisible inks. Unfortunately the results of their experiments had caused Citizenness Leclair to complain about a never-ending stench, thus forcing them to abandon their adventure.

The other attorney set aside the paper in a separate folder. "This will give me an excuse to go by the Hotel de Ville again," he said gromly. "Too bad it's out of the way; I am expected at Picpus tonight with a friend of mine, though I'd rather be at the Rue Richelieu."

"I see," Enjolras replied calmly. The candidates of all three parties had been invited to two events scheduled for that evening: a meeting at Picpus with some workingmen, stonemasons, and artisan, as well as a debate at the Rue Richelieu regarding the different parties' stances on revising the penal code. ' _Of course Bamatabois knows that I'll be at Picpus too since that is part of the Latin Quartier district,'_ he thought. Yet Bamatabois was running in the Marais; perhaps he was only going as a show of support for his fellow candidate Claude Dufour, or perhaps he had some other errand in mind. Enjolras knew better than to pry, so he took the opportunity to excuse himself.

It was past one in the afternoon when Enjolras finally left the Palais de Justice and headed back to the Latin Quartier in order to visit some of the print shops in the area. He was stopped several times by well-wishers, bystanders, and a few other acquaintances inquiring about how they could help with the campaign. As a result, it was some time past three when he finally arrived at Ravigard's bookshop. Although the store was busy with customers sifting through the stacks, he immediately located Eponine busily stitching a book at her workbench. Her fingers were smudged with ink and some wayward strands of hair had already escaped the kerchief tied around her head. She was singing softly as she worked; her low voice gave an air of melancholy to an already lovelorn ditty.

After a moment she looked up and caught sight of him. "Enjolras! I didn't think I'd see you at all today!" she greeted eagerly, jumping down from her seat. "You left again before anyone else at home got up, but I should thank you for leaving out the coffee pot again."

"I had a few urgent cases to see to, so I needed an early start."

She nodded as she wiped her hands on her linen apron. "You're here for the party's pamphlets, aren't you?" she asked more seriously as she went behind the counter again. She lifted a bundle of pamphlets onto the worn wooden worktop and handed one of the volumes to him. "There, I've finally finished them, this last one right about noon. I got a little ink again under my nails; it will take a frightful long time to wash off. Look, I used strong thread on these books; I can't simply use paste since in this weather it's impossible to manage without being near a stove all the time."

Enjolras smiled approvingly as he inspected the book; the pages were printed clearly and the stitching holding them together was sound. "Thank you Eponine," he said. As he handed the pamphlet back, he noticed that Eponine's fingers also appeared to have been pricked in numerous places. "Did you do all of this alone?" he asked concernedly.

"Most of them. It's no trouble. Citizen Ravigard and I have to take turns working on that that press out back; aside from the usual books, there are these pamphlets and some other odd orders that he sees to personally. It's a little peculiar, I think."

"Why would you say that?"

"You know I could do the printing very well myself too, or the stitching on everything while he sees to something else, but he says that some of the orders are entirely his business and these pamphlets are entirely my business and yours. All of it, from printing to giving them out," she said with a shrug.

Enjolras nodded, seeing the difficulty that Eponine was pointing to. "So he will not lend you any assistance, even with distributing these pamphlets in the subsequent days?"

"Yes but I could do it myself, little by little, if you tell me exactly where to go and who I am to meet," Eponine replied. "You candidates haven't the time to give them out yourselves. Citizen Ravigard promised he'd deliver them, but I'm not sure why he won't. I think he wants more room to finish all that he needs to do, so perhaps I'd best clear out for a day."

"Will he allow you to do such a thing?" Enjolras asked. "I do not wish to take you away from doing your necessary work, Eponine."

"This is necessary too, so I am asking!" Eponine retorted before running into the shop's backroom. After a minute she emerged, grinning triumphantly. "There, he said I could do it. You have me all of tomorrow," she said, throwing her apron and her kerchief on her workbench.

"As long as you give her letters of introduction and furnish me a list of her destinations!" Ravigard called from where he was extricating some papers from the press. "Leave the list before you go."

"A letter of introduction? What would those be for?" Eponine asked Enjolras.

"A formality, like speaking 'vous' to someone with a title," he replied, trying not to show his displeasure at this practice. In fact it was being employed less and less even in the official circles. "The letter will tell the one who receives it who you are, and what your purpose is there."

"Wouldn't it be easier to simply say it at the door?" she remarked in an undertone. "Never mind, you gentlemen can play at being fancy. I s'pose you'll have to write the letters now too since you're making the list anyway."

He nodded as he began jotting down the locations of the lodges, cafes, and assembly places where the pamphlets were to be delivered. As soon as he was finished she handed him some stationery for the letters. "Your whole name is simply 'Eponine Thenardier', isn't it?" he asked as he began writing the salutation and the first sentence of the missive.

She laughed and she leaned in to see what he was writing. "Of course it is, you silly! What were you going to name me, a grand lady so-and-so?"

"Be serious, Eponine," he reminded her. "We can't afford to make mistakes now."

"Well then I am simply Citizenness Eponine Thenardier," she said. She began humming as she waited for him to finish writing, but she fell silent and gave him a quizzical look when she saw him sign his name. "I didn't know you have such a nice name: 'Antoine Enjolras'."

"After my mother's favourite saint," he explained as he set the paper aside to dry.

"You're odd; I only learned your entire name now, after being your neighbour for so many weeks. Cosette told me that she learned Marius' name the night he first spoke to her."

He raised an eyebrow even as he began working on another letter. "There was no need to introduce myself in that way."

"I s'pose it is better for you sometimes; it is easier to remember the name 'Enjolras' since you are the only one now in Paris, but there are so many other men also named 'Antoine'," she mused. "I read a little about my own name. I thought it was from a romance, but I read that it was the name of the wife of Sabinus, an officer who fought against Rome."

"To be more exact, her name was Epponina. Have you been reading Tacitus?" Enjolras asked curiously.

"No, I found it in Gossec, over there at the fourth shelf. There's also a novel somewhere there too, by de Salles," she replied. "I sometimes wondered if I could be like her, maybe without having to be executed first. I s'pose I can't, really."

He raised an eyebrow at the slight somberness that had crept into her tone. "Why would you say that?"

She smiled wryly at him before wandering off to the bookshelves, humming once again as she began rearranging some of the books. She only returned when Enjolras was folding up the last of the notes. "I s'pose you can leave those letters here at my bench; saves me the trouble of bringing them home. I think I can bring some of these pamphlets to the meeting at Picpus tonight."

Enjolras gritted his teeth as he nearly cut his finger on the edge of the paper. "You will be attending?"

"Yes. Why do you sound so surprised at it?" she replied lightly. "Citizenness Leclair told me this morning she'd watch my brothers when Combeferre leaves for the Necker later. So I shouldn't have to worry. Bahorel and Feuilly will be there, so Prouvaire said. Claudine might be around too since it's next door to her home."

"It will not be like the salon at the Rue de Bac,"

"All of that fine talking there while my brothers were close to dying outside? I would rather be in someplace useful."

He gestured to their surroundings. "You are in one."

Eponine crossed her arms as she looked him in the face. "Is this the only thing you think I can do? I told you, I could help you with this campaign. I've been borrowing your books. I could go to the meetings too. You know what else I can do and you can't say I won't be able to help," she said firmly.

He sighed, remembering now their conversation in the corridor at the Musain. It was true that he would be in no position to reject any assistance from his friends, all of whom were more than capable of handling any situation that could arise during the campaign. However most of them were not in Eponine's rather precarious situation. "I already said that I do not wish to burden you. I cannot ask you to do any more than you already have."

"You may not ask but I still would do it."

He couldn't help but grit his teeth at this retort. ' _Not even Grantaire is this difficult,'_ he thought, all the while wondering if it was ever possible for her resolve to waver. It reminded Enjolras all too well of what had transpired when Grantaire had asked to visit the Barriere Du Maine, only that perhaps this time he could dare to hope for a somewhat better outcome. ' _She has been doing well, and I have no reason at present to distrust her,'_ he decided silently.

"This campaign is for five more weeks; I trust that you will still be as determined by the end of it," he said seriously.

A smile spread across her face. "I will be. You'll see it, for certain. I shan't fall back easily, you know."

"There is no need for you to attend every meeting. You cannot compromise your work here or neglect your brothers," he pointed out.

"Well of course I will be sensible about it," she replied as she gathered up the folded notes and stashed them in a drawer. She paused and her eyes narrowed, as if she was looking past him and out at the street. "That's Citizenness Leclair outside with some rich gentleman," she whispered.

Enjolras turned around and saw that outside the bookshop was a large but tastefully decorated coach. Alighting from this grand carriage was his concierge, accompanied by a very bald gentleman of at least forty years. The stranger carried a folder bulging with papers, which perhaps served to accentuate the limp in his right leg. He was red in the face from cold, but nevertheless his countenance was merry.

"I told you we'd find out where he was if we came here. I know my tenants well," Citizenness Leclair said gleefully to her companion as they entered the bookshop. "I'm sorry for the interruption, Eponine. Don't worry, Combeferre is still at home, tutoring Neville. Enjolras, you have a visitor all the way from Toulouse. He's a lawyer too," she added breathlessly.

"I'm here in Paris for other business, but I was told by my colleagues that I would have to make your acquaintance, Citizen Enjolras," the gentleman said, offering his hand. "Unfortunately I am given the name of Felix Tholomyes."

"A pleasure to meet you, Citizen," Enjolras said, shaking Tholomyes' hand. ' _He seems almost kin to Courfeyrac, that is if Courfeyrac were from Toulouse instead of from Gascony,'_ he observed silently. "When did you arrive in Paris?" he asked.

"Just this morning. I finished my law studies here though, a good many years ago. This city has definitely shed its skins since then; I almost did not recognize it. Yet one thing still makes Paris, Paris: these lovely ladies. 'Citizennesses' is the fashion of the day, but 'Mademoiselle' is still more fitting for Graces," Tholomyes said. He nodded to Eponine. "You are called Eponine, so I heard? Is there another name to accompany it?"

"Thenardier," the girl replied quickly. "My brothers and I are also Citizenness' Leclair's tenants, so I s'pose that is why she brought you here."

"Your brothers?" Tholomyes asked.

"You have met one already, Citizen, the boy who was being tutored by my other tenant," Citizenness Leclair clarified. "Eponine has two more brothers."

"How old are they?" Tholomyes asked the girl.

"Gavroche is twelve, nearly thirteen. Jacques is five." She glanced at the clock on the wall of the shop and bit her lip. "It's past four; I have to go and get them at the schoolhouse."

"I still have to speak with Citizen Enjolras about a number of matters, but Citizenness Leclair will be returning to the Rue Jean Jacques Rousseau; you can accompany her in the coach and make a slight detour for your brothers," Tholomyes offered.

"Don't be embarrassed, Eponine; it will save little Jacques the long walk home," Citizenness Leclair said in an undertone.

Eponine nodded quickly. "Thank you Citizen," she said to Tholomyes. She picked up a red pelisse that had been tossed carelessly on a nearby chair. "Enjolras, what time will you be at Picpus later?" she asked as she pulled the pelisse over her dress.

"Around eight. I'll bring the pamphlets myself and give some out on the way," Enjolras replied. He had to keep a straight face on noticing the mischievous smile tugging at his concierge's lips. ' _What about this situation can possibly amuse her?'_ he wondered incredulously as he helped Eponine retrieve a bundle of pamphlets while Tholomyes went out to give his coachman some instructions. In a few minutes the ladies were in the coach bound for the schoolhouse while the gentlemen were bound for a cafe at the end of the street.

Tholomyes insisted on ordering brandy, and seemed rather surprised when Enjolras did not imbibe any of it. "You are unduly severe for someone of your age," he chided.

"I have never developed a taste for strong drink," Enjolras answered calmly. "Are you here in Paris to attend to a case?"

"Two trifling matters. I am an elector, and thus a delegate and observer in a manner of speaking. I am very interested to know what each party has to say," Tholomyes replied. "I heard that you had a hand in writing the present Constitution?"

"A number of the articles, at least."

"You're outdoing Robespierre at your age, springing all too quickly from the barricades to the assembly," Tholomyes said. "You cannot be older than twenty-two."

Enjolras chose to ignore this remark, despite the fact that he'd turned twenty-six several months ago. "Have you been able to read about the parties' legislative agendas?" he asked, handing one of the pamphlets to Tholomyes.

"A few things," Tholomyes said as he donned a pair of spectacles and began flipping through the small book. "Why is the _Radicaux_  party set on making attendance at school mandatory from the age of four up to twelve, free of charge at that?"

"It is a crucial step to ensuring that the people will continue to enjoy the political and social liberties that they have today, as well as to participate meaningfully in governance, trade, commerce, and other areas of daily living. It would be difficult to expect a citizen who is illiterate to, for instance, understand every single necessary provision and binding statement prior to signing a legal contract. The same can be said for the process of suffrage; while there are assemblies to inform the people, more carefully considered decisions can be made when one can peruse newspapers and materials relevant to issues," Enjolras began, stopping only to take a sip of water. "It would help end exploitation; ignorance cannot be exploited to force one man to bend to the will of another, or for a group to enforce its interests over another simply for the inability of one party to be articulate with regard to its cause."

Tholomyes put down the book and rubbed his temples. . "If you were to extend that line of thinking you would have every citizen representing himself in court."

"It would be ill for our profession, yes, but that would help prevent a larger number of travesties and the difficulties caused when one has no means to pay for an attorney's services," Enjolras replied wryly. ' _A development that would have saved Citizen Valjean earlier or if not him, then some of the others imprisoned in Toulon,'_ he thought.

Tholomyes frowned as he opened the book again. "It would be far simpler to ensure that they can read and do some writing, to perhaps above the rudimentary level. That is the work of several weeks; an idiot can be given the alphabet in that span of time, and he will be none the worse for it. Why should several years of schooling be necessary?"

"We also have to uphold the right for all to have equal opportunities for advancement."

"Then no one will be left to work in the factories or till the fields. It is not practical to pull men from their necessary employment."

"We do not seek to create a nation of mathematicians and philosophers, though it certainly would not be harmful to be knowledgeable about these subjects," Enjolras said. "In a practical sense, education would still be of benefit; our farmers and landowners can take a scientific approach to agriculture instead of being at the mercy of the elements. Our workingmen can seek to better their respective trades. You are right in saying that labor is necessary, but we cannot limit any citizen to a singular task or way of living, when he or she may be inclined to engage in more than one occupation."

Tholomyes nodded. "That is well thought out, but you would be taking away time and necessary resources simply to keep the masses educated, particularly those who are disinclined and indolent, those who have let the green wood turn dry."

"A human is not merely physical matter; you and I are not physicians but we can be certain of at least that fact. We must not starve one faculty in order to keep the others robust. To ignore the forming of the mind will in the end enfeeble the generation and the state," Enjolras countered, his tone now far more passionate but still very clear. "Even if the present generation may deem itself coming late in the task of education, we must make this avenue open to those who will follow."

"Education is of course the necessary employment of children, but in some it breeds contempt for their forebears; the son of Zeus would overthrow Zeus and thus Zeus saw it necessary to swallow Metis," the older lawyer noted. "You and I may stand on equal footing with our fathers someday, that is the natural course of things. However for an unruly peasant's son who can read a tome where his father only sees lines will definitely think himself better; his roguish eye turns to the cities, to Paris even. He aspires for the life of the bourgeoisie he has heard of, or has seen on the wayside. It is within his grasp. With such knowledge of the Code Civil, of poetry and odes, of arithmetic, what will then bring him back to his rightful inheritance on the land when he already disdains it?

"That will not be so if the life of the peasant is to be seen on an equal footing with the life of the bourgeoisie, and in other ways besides the token abolition of titles and the word ' _vous'_ ," Enjolras answered. "These old tyrannies are reinforced through thought, and it is through thought that they will be toppled. There is a mistake in thinking that the peasant, the stevedore, and the workingman are the servants of the bourgeoisie, and the bourgeoisie a step lower than nobility. These distinctions serve to breed envy and reinforce distrust. In reality it is often the so-called upper classes who owe much to those who live by the work of their hands."

Tholomyes' expression was grave if not a little scornful. "That talk may be good in the Latin Quartier and the markets, Enjolras, but it would ring differently in the Hotel de Ville or even the Assembly. If Laffitte were to return to an assembly, you may find yourself up against a staunch opponent."

"Fortunately for all of us, Laffitte has yet to staunchly declare his views on these matters, there may still be opportunities for a productive discourse," Enjolras said with a slight smile.

"That may be so. You dream far, even for a revolutionary," Tholomyes replied. "Fifteen years ago young men were happy to be here in Paris, to attend the occasional class, to go down to the cafes with their friends, and perhaps to put a smile on the faces of the pretty seamstresses. Now I return to find gamins talking of liberty, equality, and fraternity, and a young man wooing a bookshop girl."

It took Enjolras a moment to realize who Tholomyes was referring to. His brow furrowed slightly as he took another sip from his glass of water, willing himself to make no reply to this cheeky conjecture. "How long will you be in Paris?" he asked after a few moments.

"Two weeks perhaps," Tholomyes replied. "Hardly enough time to get reacquainted with this city." He sipped at his brandy pensively. "So that lovely Eponine is accompanying you on one of your political sorties? I warn you, that is a waste of her gaiety and her laughter. You ought to watch out or some conquistador will whisper and sugar her away; women prefer that to the sterner stuff. Love is not a straight debate, it is a cloak and dagger business, and women applaud the drama, they weep when Paris perishes owing to Helen's charms. We play fools to these ladies, I tell you."

It took all of Enjolras' effort to keep a straight face. "Do not misunderstand me; Citizenness Thenardier is merely a neighbour of mine," he said in a level tone, hoping that his guest would not press the matter any further. Much to his relief Tholomyes merely nodded before drinking more brandy and then proceeding to inquire more about the progress of the early days of the campaign. It was past seven in the evening when Tholomyes finally announced that he was expected elsewhere, leaving Enjolras to rush to Picpus.

The meeting was on the ground floor of a house right on the Rue Petit-Picpus, within sight of the venerable convent of the Bernardines of the Perpetual Adoration. As Enjolras walked down this old street, he could hear the strains of the evening prayer sung in sweet though mournful tones. Once, in the days before he'd begun to consider himself as a Deist, he had gone to hear Mass there and had found himself confronted with an inexplicable sort of gravity was both disquieting and edifying. He made no effort to hear Mass after this, and since then he had only regarded the convent as some sort of landmark, at least until he had made the acquaintance of Jean Valjean and Cosette, and learned of their connection with that place. ' _A perfect sanctuary indeed,'_ he concurred.

He saw that someone else in the front yard of the house was also listening to the solemn sounds of these vespers; the red of Eponine's pelisse was unmistakeable even in the dark. "They sing as if someone died," she remarked when she saw him. "Do they do so every day?"

"So I hear. It takes getting accustomed to," he answered. "Why aren't you inside?"

"Someone blew smoke in my face. How I coughed!" she replied, wrinkling her nose. "Bahorel and Feuilly aren't here yet, but there's another man, Dufour, who is waiting for you."

"Dufour is the _Democrates_ party's candidate for this quartier," Enjolras informed her.

"Oh. He's been trying to make friends with the stonecutters. I don't know how he's doing," Eponine remarked. She fiddled with the edge of her glove as she looked out towards the convent again. "Cosette told me a bit about the nuns there. I cannot imagine ever living that way."

"You mean having to take vows?" he asked.

"Vows? Well I do not know about that, but I can't bear being away from everything and everyone! I should want to feel the air on my face, to laugh, to see people when I wish!" she exclaimed. "Besides I'd look awful in a veil."

Enjolras couldn't help but smirk at this last vain observation. He touched Eponine's elbow to signify that it was time to enter the house. Just as he'd been told, the front room was thick with smoke and in addition to this, almost impossible to manoeuvre owing to the crowd. The assembly was comprised mostly of the workingmen and artisans of the neighbourhood, but there were a few matrons and about three other young women present. The  _Democrates_ candidate Claude Dufour was in a corner of the room, deep in conversation with a pair of elderly stonecutters. Dufour was a reed of a man; in fact it appeared that he was in danger of being snapped in half by the burly men surrounding his table. He was a former seminarian who had shifted rather late to the field of law, and had completed his licentiate at the age of thirty-three.

Dufour quickly waved to Enjolras. "One of mine for yours," he said, holding up a thin brown pamphlet.

Enjolras nodded before handing over one of the pamphlets he'd brought. "Where is your colleague, Bamatabois?" he asked as he received Dufour's pamphlet.

The older man looked around and scowled. "Tardy again!"

"Perhaps he is on his way; he should be here in a few minutes," Enjolras said, remembering now that Bamatabois might have gone to the Hotel de Ville in order to personally surrender the suspicious letter they'd seen at the Palais de Justice.

Dufour sighed nervously. "Is the young lady your sister or your cousin? It is rather late for her to be out," he said, gesturing to Eponine, who was climbing on a chair in order to hand out some of the pamphlets.

"Citizenness Thenardier is definitely not a relative, but she's helping out with the campaign," Enjolras said to his opponent. "Citizenness, that is a rather precarious position," he warned Eponine.

Eponine shook her head. "I'm not as tall as you, how am I supposed to go about it?"

"Be reasonable. The last thing we need this evening is an accident," he said. Almost as soon as he admonished her, she scrambled off the chair in order to greet Bahorel and Feuilly, who had just arrived with a number of friends. Among them was a rather harried and sullen Bamatabois.

Dufour chuckled softly. "Perhaps your friend should lend some of her enthusiasm to Bamatabois." He paused though when he saw the newcomers. "Ill news?"

Feuilly and Bahorel exchanged looks while Bamatabois practically collapsed in a chair. "The  _fleur-de-lis_  in the fish market," Feuilly explained. "This afternoon. There was a bit of a fracas about it."

"It  _has_  to be a bousingot prank. No one else would be so brazen as to paint it on a wall, of all places," Bamatabois groaned.

Bahorel's jaw tightened. "I'll have you know that Borel would  _never_  do that. Cause a stir, maybe but that sort of panic is not something he condones."

Enjolras put a hand on Bahorel's shoulder. "We know Borel too; he is more prudent when it comes to these matters." He looked at his friends, knowing that they were all wary and at the same time furious at the inopportune timing of these antics. "So far that symbol has only been seen on small papers or clothes, but not on an edifice. How did the bystanders react?" he asked.

"Not very well; there were whispers right away and one man nearly got strung up," Feuilly said. "Fortunately Courfeyrac and some others were able to talk down the mob."

Eponine winced. "Did anyone get hurt or put in La Force for it?"

"About five people injured but nothing serious. As to the second question, no arrests could be made," Feuilly said in an undertone.

' _This will be Jeanne's trouble to settle,'_ Enjolras thought, already resolving to help his friend in this delicate matter. "It appears that the  _fleur-de-lis_  may have been put there with an intention to merely provoke and cause discord in the area, as opposed to signifying anything. The culprit may long be gone from the area by now," he pointed out.

"We can't be sure. It could always have been a signal," Bamatabois muttered.

"Do not jump to conclusions," Dufour warned. "We may very well find ourselves the subjects of the  _Charivari_  again if you fire wide."

Before anyone could exchange any more conjectures, the meeting was called to order owing to the arrival of the _Constitutionalists_  candidate as well as some residents from the surrounding streets and even a number of students. It appeared that certain neighbourhood matters would be tackled prior to to the business of the candidates' agendas. While one of the older stoneworkers was making an appeal to the assembly regarding a financial matter, Eponine looked around and shook her head. "Claudine is not here. How could she possibly miss this?"

"Perhaps she has some previous appointment," Enjolras suggested.

"It's not her usual way," Eponine insisted.

"You can ask on some other occasion," he said. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed that there was a note being passed around among his neighbours. One disgruntled shopkeeper laughed and nearly crumpled up the paper, but saw Enjolras looking in his direction. He muttered something and handed the missive over.

"What do you think, Citizen?" the shopkeeper asked. "Fitting for an Orleanist?"

Eponine looked over Enjolras' shoulder and frowned at the message. "You aren't going to ask who made that  _here_ , are you?" she whispered.

"Not when I am up front," Enjolras said. ' _We might have just walked into a powderkeg,'_ he thought as he folded up and pocketed a drawing of a blood-soaked guillotine splitting a  _fleur-de-lis_.

 


	32. Chapter 32: Everything About Mothers

**Chapter 32: Everything About Mothers**

' _Maybe I should have thought about the rain first before saying I'd give out the pamphlets'._

Eponine shivered as she huddled in the meagre shelter of a carriage gate as she waited for a fiacre to pass by or for the needle-sharp rain to stop even for a few minutes. She stuffed her hands into the sleeves of her coat for warmth, wincing when one of her maimed fingers caught on her left cuff. "At least I gave out the last of the books before the rain started," she muttered as she looked up at the sky, wishing desperately for a gap in the clouds. She had started with her itinerary before eight in the morning, owing to the fact that she had quite a long list of places for her to leave the pamphlets at. Now it was past eleven, and by all rights the pale sun should have been lending a little warmth to the streets instead of hiding behind this sudden rainstorm.

She yawned a little; it was only at this hour that drowsiness was catching up with her. Till that moment the heady events of the previous day had been more than enough to sustain her despite having slept very little, but now the cool weather was making her languorous. As she pressed her back against the gate in a further effort to keep out of the rain, she caught sight of a man also taking shelter from the rain, but this time in a doorway. She blinked as she tried to ascertain his identity, only to feel her gut clench when she saw him bring out a billystick and pass it to his left hand. It was an old sign she knew all too well. She shook her head twice but all the same he crossed the street so that he was standing also in the shade of the carriage gate.

"What are you doing here, Montparnasse?" she asked in a low voice.

"I don't have a quarrel with you, Eponine. Just your neighbour," the dandy answered politely. "I don't see him about."

"He's at work. So was I," she answered. She watched him inspect his sodden hat. "You're here alone?"

"I have other business too."

"What sort?"

He didn't answer but he drew a much wrinkled paper out from his coat pocket. "A letter from your mother. Magnon had it all this while. There was a letter for Azelma too, but Magnon says she lost it."

"My mother?" Eponine repeated incredulously as she snatched the letter. The paper felt as if it was on the point of disintegrating in her gloved grip. "Why did Magnon have it? How did you get it from her?"

Montparnasse smiled cryptically. "Your mother must have entrusted it to Magnon. As for getting the letter, I do keep an eye on old friends."

Eponine bit her lip. "Why are you giving this to me?"

"Because your father will not," Montparnasse replied. "I heard now that Azelma is living with a poet?"

"It is her business," Eponine replied

"I heard she left because of that matter with Citizenness Allen. You should not have interfered."

"You would have done the same if it had been Gavroche in trouble," she pointed out. Even during their worst days in the streets, she knew that Montparnasse had made it a point to look out for her brother. ' _Sometimes he can be a better person than I am,'_ she thought.

Montparnasse nodded slowly. "Azelma never told you why we parted ways?"

"She said she saw you with another girl," she said accusingly.

"That was true, but she was the one who always wanted to leave first. She said that I couldn't do enough for her. Then I knew she was going to try to find you, and not your father," the dandy replied, bitterness lacing his voice. "She said she saw you with fine folk, and she wanted to be there."

"I thought she was only interested in lancers," Eponine murmured. "Well, what happened?"

"We argued one night, and I left to see Babet. When I returned, she was gone. She didn't come back the next night, or the night after that. That was when I met another girl, out on the Boulevard. Then I heard from Deux-Millards that Azelma found your father, and that was the last I heard of her till I saw that she was living with you."

"Are you telling the truth, Parnasse?"

Montparnasse pocketed his billystick. "I am. You can even ask Babet and Gueulemer. Azelma told you a whole different story, didn't she?"

"She didn't say a few things," Eponine admitted. Inasmuch as she was not sure whether to believe Montparnasse's version of events, it did at least explain something of Azelma's behaviour. ' _No wonder she was a little angry with me,'_ she thought. "You don't always do the right thing, Montparnasse. You're a good boy though. Thank you."

"And you're a clever girl," he replied. He handed her a five franc piece. "Take this too."

"I don't need your money."

"It's not for you, it's for Gavroche. For his birthday."

"Oh yes. He's nearly thirteen already, but he's still so small," she said with a giggle. "I'll tell him you greeted him."

"You stay out of the rain, Eponine. Be careful. Tell Citizen Enjolras that too. Good day to you."

"Good day Montparnasse." She watched him cross the street again, but this time he went down an alley and out from sight. ' _I hope your other business is serving you better,'_ she thought, but she could not quite imagine Montparnasse doing any sort of honest work; he had a streak of the idler, he'd said so himself. ' _And he'd never take it well if I told him to try something else,'_ she reminded herself as she unfolded the worn out missive. The thick lines were faded and blotted in some places, but it was still unmistakably her mother's hand.

_My dear Eponine,_

_Where are you? I hope Magnon can get this to you and Azelma. I heard that you are in Les Madelonttes, but that you might be out soon. If you can go back to that old house, you will find that I left a little money under your mattress, just under the floorboard. It is all I can give you._

_I never wanted this horrible life for you and Azelma. I hate your father for making us thieves and having us live this way. I hate him for what has happened to both of you. I should have brought you both to some place better. Please do what you can for you and your sister. I want you to have a fine house, beautiful dresses like the ones you used to have, and gentlemen wanting you to marry them. Find someone who can take care of you, better than that tramp Montparnasse or that poor boy next door._

_I don't think I shall ever get out of here; these cognes are being ridiculous. They do not believe it was your father's fault. Think of me some times, Eponine. Give Azelma a kiss from me. Please remember that I will always love you._

_Your mother_

Eponine quickly folded up the letter before it could get wet. "Maman, would you be happy with what I did?" she whispered, trying to picture how her mother must have appeared while she was writing this letter. However the only thing she could recall now was how her mother looked during their last day in the Gorbeau House, dressed in a garish tartan skirt and an oversized hat. Even then, she had still smiled when her daughters were around. It was the one image of her mother that Eponine wished she could commit to memory. ' _If only I did see it more often'_.

She wiped her face with her sleeve and frowned at the dark streaks that came away on the fabric. ' _It's far from grand but at least we aren't thieves anymore,'_ she reminded herself as she pocketed the letter. She looked around and nearly laughed; the rain had stopped and the water that was dripping near her was coming from a nearby awning. She got to her feet and then began walking in the general direction of Prouvaire's apartment, hoping to find her sister already awake.

When she arrived, she found Azelma having a late breakfast in the front room; Prouvaire had gone off to meet some of the masons. The younger girl wiped croissant crumbs off her face as she threw a shawl over her chemise. "What are you doing here?"

"Came to show you this letter from Maman. Montparnasse gave it to me," Eponine said, handing over the worn out note.

Azelma read through the letter quickly and her brow furrowed. "She didn't write to me."

"Magnon lost the letter," Eponine said, feeling a little embarrassed.

The younger girl laughed before practically shoving the letter back at Eponine. "You can say what you want to say, Ponine. Maman and Papa always liked you better since you could do things for them."

"That's not true. They just wanted you to be safe, that's why they wouldn't send you out as often," Eponine retorted. Although Prouvaire's apartment was warm, she could feel a chill in her bones again as the memories of the Gorbeau tenement rose before her. In a way that had been far safer than running after fiacres or dodging the police, things which happened far too often in the days when she was their father's messenger. "I didn't want you to always go with me either," she added more softly.

"You always had everything better. Everything first," Azelma said impetuously, curling up in her chair. "The dresses went to you first. Papa always talked to you more. Montparnasse was yours first too."

"I tried to share."

"You couldn't always," Azelma retorted. "Now I don't have to share anything with you anymore. Anyway I already did what Maman said in her letter. I found someone who takes care of me, while you're still working every day."

Eponine stared at her sister for a moment, wondering if she had misheard her. She thought of mentioning what she'd heard from Montparnasse, but she decided against it; that was another question altogether. "And you do absolutely nothing to help Prouvaire?" she asked after a few moments.

Azelma shrugged. "I keep this place clean. I read his work and tell him when his flute playing is nice. He calls me his Dulcinea, you know?"

"He likes you, but do you like him?"

"What does it matter? He's rich. He likes me enough so I won't have to do anything. More like the Baronne Pontmercy than you are, for sure."

Eponine could already taste bile at the back of her throat. "It's not fair to  _him_ ," she finally said. "And I don't care about being like Cosette anymore," she added more spitefully.

"Hah! You can say that-"

"Don't bring Enjolras into this."

A triumphant smirk spread over Azelma's face. "I wasn't about to mention him."

Eponine's jaw dropped as she realized what she had just blurted out. "You horrible-" she began just before a knock on the door cut her off.

"Azelma? Eponine?" Claudine called anxiously from outside.

Eponine lost no time in opening the door. "Claudine! How did you know I was here?" she asked.

"You weren't at home or at Ravigard's shop, so I figured you might be visiting your sister," Claudine replied. She looked weary, as if she'd walked a long way. "If I didn't find you here, I was going to see if you were at the Musain or at some _Radicaux_  meeting."

"I will be at one later tonight," Eponine said. "I'm meeting Enjolras, Bossuet, and some other friends at Place de Tivoli."

"What about Gavroche and Jacques?"

"He said he'd fetch them at the schoolhouse today," Eponine replied. ' _I would love to see the look on Jacques' face when he sees Enjolras,'_ she thought amusedly. She wasn't sure why her youngest brother had taken such a liking to her friend, but she couldn't complain if it meant that little Jacques would be less jittery.

Claudine's eyebrows shot up with curiosity. "Ah good. Then we can go to the Marais together," she said, indicating a packet of papers she'd brought. She frowned as she caught sight of Azelma, who looked dumbfounded. "Azelma, get dressed. We're going out today."

"To do what?" Azelma asked petulantly.

"To visit the Pontmercys."

"It's something useful," Eponine added. Azelma glared at her before finding a dress that had been hastily thrown on a chair, and then disappearing into the next room.

"I know I came at a bad time, but you two are the first people I could get hold of all day," Claudine explained as she took a seat. "Musichetta and Joly have had a row  _again_ , Paulette and her friends are rushing to finish a whole trousseau, and Leonor is off with Feuilly helping Jeanne out with some trouble in the marketplace."

Eponine nodded slowly, remembering what had been discussed the previous evening at the meeting. "I was at Picpus last night for a meeting. I thought I'd see you there."

Claudine's lip twisted, as if she was about to say something. "I had something to see to."

"Is it something serious? Maybe Combeferre can help?"

"I wish."

"Oh." Eponine looked at her curiously. "Is it about him then?"

"We had a bit of an argument. Nothing to worry about, really," Claudine said. "Why aren't you at work today, Eponine?"

"It's a bit of work, well it's giving out the pamphlets for the  _Radicaux_  party," Eponine explained with a grin. "I had to go to maybe fifteen different places. So many people to talk to."

"You liked it?" Claudine asked.

"Mostly. You would have done better though; I almost didn't know what to say."

"You'll get better with it," Claudine remarked, finding a scrap of paper on which to make a quick note to Prouvaire about Azelma's whereabouts. "Do you remember what we were talking about in the Musain, about the wages and welfare of women in factories?"

"Not really," Eponine admitted. She hadn't been paying much attention that evening to anything other than Azelma's antics. "What now then?"

"We have to make a sort of project, an organization of workers if you will. It will be a little like the time asking for the right to vote, but something more permanent," Claudine said more enthusiastically.

"Why will it have to be permanent?"

"To keep on speaking to the legislators. We  _know_ that Jeanne is going to be elected and Enjolras as well, and perhaps some other promising characters. They are our friends but they will need reminding now and then about the concerns of women," Claudine replied. "As a group it will also be easier to keep in touch and help out workers too."

"Why are we visiting Cosette then? Azelma whined as she emerged from the next room, trying to tie a wide ribbon around her waist. "She doesn't work!"

"Because she might want to help," Eponine said, motioning for Azelma to turn around so she could help tie the ribbon behind her back. She made sure to tie two knots into the sash, knowing that her sister would have a difficult time undoing it later. She saw Claudine raise her eyebrows disapprovingly at this but she merely shrugged.  _'Somehow she has to learn she can't always win,'_ she thought as she followed her sister and her friend out the door.

When the trio finally arrived at the Rue des Filles du Calvaire, they arrived in time to see a rather aged doctor exiting the house. "Was someone taken ill?" Claudine asked Nicolette worriedly.

"No one, Citizenness," Nicolette said, sounding a little embarrassed. "Only that Citizenness Pontmercy was feeling a little poorly-"

"Nicolette, I'll explain it!" Cosette called from the drawing room. She was sitting up on a sofa near the fireplace, smiling as if she had been entrusted with some great secret. "I  _have_ been feeling a little odd, but I'm not ill," she said as her friends sat down."It's nothing to worry about," she added, seeing Claudine's worried expression.

' _First Claudine, now Cosette,'_ Eponine thought, feeling rather put out at this sudden secrecy. "Are you sure you'll be fine?"

Cosette nodded as she sat up straighter. "So you're here to talk about laws for women's workplaces?" she asked, gesturing to the papers Claudine had.

"How did you know?" Eponine asked.

"Because it's the thing that the  _Radicaux_  candidate here, Blanchard, hasn't been mentioning," Cosette confided. "I'm glad you're here too; I have a sort of project that I hope you can help me with."

"Oh?"

"I want to do something for gamins, by giving them someplace safe to go. It won't be like an orphanage since some of them would not want to stay. It's a house where they can get meals, maybe clothes, and if some of them like they can even some lessons."

' _It's better than going into people's houses to give them clothes,'_ Eponine mused. She saw Azelma looking bored while Claudine was listening with interest. "Where would you put it?" Claudine asked after a moment.

"I was thinking perhaps of the Faubourg du Temple," Cosette replied. She got to her feet at the sound of someone opening the front door. "That's Marius now."

In a moment Marius was in the drawing room, his face pale with worry. "Cosette, I heard you were taken ill. You shouldn't be down here," he whispered concernedly.

Cosette silenced him with a finger on his lips. "Excuse us for a moment," she said to her guests before practically dragging Marius to another corner of the drawing room. She whispered something in his ear and clasped his hands before kissing his cheek.

Marius' eyes widened and his jaw dropped as he stared at his wife. His voice was choked with disbelief when he could speak. "When?"

"Early in July, so the doctor said," Cosette replied before Marius interrupted her with a kiss. She laughed and buried her face in Marius' shoulder for a moment. "I'm sorry for not telling you right away, but I had to tell Marius first. I hope you understand," she said apologetically to her friends.

It immediately dawned on Eponine what Cosette was referring to. "Congratulations, both of you," she said after an awkward moment. She could almost imagine Cosette holding a child, certainly with dark hair but perhaps less unruly than Marius' curls. The image was so perfect, it was almost ridiculous.

"So does this mean you will have a christening, a nice dress for the baby and a celebration after?" Azelma chimed in after Claudine congratulated the pair.

"Yes, but that is such a long time from now," Cosette said. She shook her head as she sat down. "I still cannot believe it entirely myself..."

"Maybe we ought to visit some other day," Claudine suggested politely as she stood up.

"No, no, stay. If you can, for dinner. There is much I wanted to ask you about before-" Cosette began before realizing that Marius was looking at her quizzically. "I have a project in mind and I intended to explain it to you and Papa later, over dinner."

"A project, now? Cosette, it might be too much for you and the child," Marius protested.

"Marius, I'm not any less strong than yesterday," Cosette chided, her tone still affectionate. "I insist that you stay, even for a while. We have a lot to talk about.'

Azelma didn't bother to stifle a yawn. "Have you got tea?" she asked.

"I'll ask Nicolette to get it. And some biscuits; the ones with sugar," Cosette said despite the withering looks that Eponine and Claudine were giving Azelma.

"No, you sit still. I'll tell Nicolette," Marius insisted.

"Thank you," Cosette replied as she returned to the sofa. "He sometimes worries far too much," she giggled as soon as Marius was out of the drawing room.

"It seems as if one of your biggest problems in the next few months might be an overprotective husband," Claudine pointed out.

"Perhaps but he can never refuse me," the young Baronne said happily. "So tell me about what you were reading about women's workplaces."

Eponine was only too glad to let Claudine take over the discussion and explain to Cosette and Azelma the contents of various articles she had collected from the  _Moniteur_  and other broadsheets. The stories were all about accidents, low wages, filthy conditions and other horrors that needed to be addressed. ' _If the candidates won't listen now, will they listen after they are elected?'_ she wanted to ask. It seemed as if there were already too many promises for all the candidates to keep, and adding this question would only further complicate matters. Yet she couldn't help but stay with this discussion anyway; many of the stories were those of girls her age or Azelma's. ' _You're lucky to be working with Citizen Ravigard,'_ she realized, only remembering now to partake some of the tea that Nicolette had brought in.

It was already past five in the afternoon when they heard what sounded like voices in the anteroom. Azelma looked up from an article she was reading. "Sounds like the Baron has office work," she remarked.

Before any of the women could comment, the drawing room door opened and Grantaire peered in. "May I warm myself in here?" he asked.

"Certainly," Cosette said, almost surprised at the question. "How have you been?"

"I have been to Marathon and Athens several times and back," Grantaire groaned as he took a seat at the far side of the room. He rubbed his shins. "Courfeyrac was supposed to be Pheiddippides today but he has a visit from his parents."

Eponine cringed at the mention of Courfeyrac's parents. "What happened? Was Paulette there?"

"Unlike Pheiddippides who died while giving his message, Courfeyrac will live to tell the tale," Grantaire said. "He will be forced to renounce that particle of his though."

For a moment none of the girls dared to remark at this bit of dire news about their friend being disowned. "Sit closer to the fire, Grantaire," Cosette offered uneasily after a while.

He shook his head. "I will remove myself soon enough; I'm only waiting for Enjolras and Citizen Tholomyes to conclude their business in your husband's study."

Azelma looked as if she was about to say something but it was Claudine's turn to give her a reproving look. Eponine nodded to Cosette and then crossed the room to Grantaire's seat. "Why aren't you with them?" she asked.

"Lawyers' quibbling," Grantaire replied. "Are you waiting for him too?"

"I may as well speak to him if he's not busy," Eponine said carefully. ' _Has he been following Enjolras around all day?'_ she wondered. It didn't make sense to her why he would linger in the drawing room while their friends were at work. She dared to sneak a glance at Grantaire's scuffed shoes. "Your soles will let in the water," she remarked.

"I can get better ones for two or three louis," he said as he cracked his knuckles. There was something more languorous about his manner as he spoke. "You've taken the shine off yours as well."

"I've been giving out pamphlets," Eponine informed him. "It's for the campaign."

"I'd rather polish Enjolras' boots."

"Why would you?" she asked. She bit her lip on seeing the melancholy look that crossed Grantaire's face. ' _They say that he'd do anything for Enjolras, and maybe they do really mean that,'_ she thought, remembering some of the whispers she'd heard in the Musain about Grantaire's blatant fascination with this particular young attorney.

He chuckled as he met her gaze. "He is a fine statue on Olympus and in the Assembly. Apollo is an ancestor to Saint-Just; they are both known to be cold, both beloved and yet all too capable of scorning. You can see it too for yourself. You're no Creusa or Daphne. You do not need to be forcibly swept up and concealed in a cave, and you do not need to be pursued and seek refuge in being transformed into an unfeeling tree."

She paused, since the names Creusa and Daphne were unfamiliar to her. "I do not understand."

"Enjolras is a magnet; he attracts and yet he can repel. Leaders are made of that strange metal." Grantaire fell silent at the sound of footsteps in the general direction of the anteroom. "But perhaps, perhaps he has a bit of Sabinus in him, more than he knows," he added, speaking more to himself than to Eponine.

' _Maybe, but not for me,'_ Eponine thought. She could hear something like a conversation starting up in the anteroom; Tholomyes' hearty voice nearly drowned out Marius' more halting one. She couldn't help but grin on hearing Enjolras' laconic reply to one of Tholomyes' drawn out assertions. As quietly as she could, she slipped over to the door and opened it. She saw that Marius had his back to the drawing room, talking intently to Tholomyes. Enjolras was standing off to the side, arms folded as he listened intently to them. He glanced in her direction and his eyes widened for a moment, as if he was surprised to see her standing there.

Before Enjolras could say anything, Eponine quickly stepped out and closed the door behind her, startling both Marius and Tholomyes. "Eponine, is Grantaire there?" Marius asked, gesturing to the drawing room.

"He is. I s'pose he'll leave when all the rest of us do," she replied. She looked at Enjolras again, knowing he was already waiting for her to tell him of how her work had turned out. "I finished it all. Every last pamphlet is where it should be."

The young man smiled with relief. "No difficulties?"

"There was one gentleman who claimed I was knocking too early when it was already past nine in the morning," she said, grimacing slightly at the memory of being harangued in the middle of a busy street. "Some people at the other shops and even a schoolmaster asked about the meeting tonight; they want to attend and listen to what the  _Radicaux_  has to say about changing the penalties for prisoners."

"That is better than I expected. Thank you for telling them," Enjolras said gratefully.

"They'll be waiting for you and the other candidates later, I hope," she added. "How are my brothers?"

"Gavroche has to work on his spelling; I read a composition of his and found some errors," Enjolras said. "Jacques wanted to come along to the meeting. He wouldn't let me leave till I promised that you and I would return tonight safely," he added more seriously.

Eponine sighed with dismay. "You shouldn't have told him that. Now he'll stay up waiting, or he'll fall asleep near the door."

Tholomyes rubbed his spectacles. "Young men, if you concern yourself with these domestic matters, you will be tyrannized," he warned.

"It would also be tyranny to let a friend go unassisted," Enjolras answered.

Marius smiled uneasily as he knocked on the drawing room door. "I was only going to tell Grantaire that we're through with work," he said to Cosette when she opened the door.

"You'll have to tear him away from his discussion with Claudine," Cosette said.

Marius chuckled before clasping his wife's hand. "Cosette, may I introduce my colleague from Toulouse, Citizen Felix Tholomyes. Citizen Tholomyes, I would like you to meet my wife, Citizenness Euphrasie Pontmercy," he said.

Tholomyes seemed to hesitate at the sight of Cosette. "A pleasure to meet you, Citizenness Pontmercy," he said, managing a bow. "Your husband is a very astute attorney. I can expect great things from him in his future practice."

Cosette smiled radiantly. "He is a brilliant and compassionate man."

"Of course. And a very lucky one as well," Tholomyes said, quickly averting his gaze.

"He's right," Marius said before turning at the sound of a step on the stairway. "Father! You're awake!"

"I was looking for some tea," Jean Valjean replied. He was far less stooped and there was more color in his face despite the winter weather. "Good day to all of you," he said by way of greeting to the rest of the group. "I hope all is well with the campaign?" he asked Enjolras.

"It is. We have had few troubles so far," Enjolras replied cordially.

Marius cleared his throat before proceeding to make another round of introductions. "Citizen Tholomyes is from Toulouse, but he studied law here in Paris," the young man concluded.

Jean Valjean was silent as he regarded Tholomyes. "A name I cannot forget," he muttered at length.

"Rather, a testament to a sharp memory," Tholomyes said with an amiable smile. "I do not believe we have met before however."

"We have not," Jean Valjean replied. "However I have heard your name before, from a woman I was unable to succour years ago."

"What was her name?"

"Fantine."

Tholomyes paled for a moment. "We met, long ago. How did you know her?"

"She came into my care during an unhappy time," Jean Valjean replied. His eyes were dark with an unaccustomed fury as he regarded Tholomyes. No one dared to speak; in fact beyond the ajar door of the drawing room, Claudine, Azelma, and Grantaire had already ceased their discussion.

The attorney swallowed hard. "What happened?"

"She had to leave her daughter with another family in order to work, and she died without their ever being reunited. She gave up more than she should ever have to," the elderly man continued.

"She shouldn't have left her child-"

"She should have had recourse to you first."

For a moment it was as if all of them had been plunged into a grave; in fact Eponine was hardly aware that she still drew breath. Tholomyes bowed his head beneath Jean Valjean's gaze. Enjolras' brow was furrowed as he regarded Tholomyes. Marius' countenance was livid; in fact it was only Cosette's hand that stayed him from rushing at his guest. As for Cosette herself, she had paled considerably but she showed no sign of shock or faltering.

Tholomyes at last dared to raise his eyes to Cosette. "You look like her. Unmistakably."

At that moment Eponine felt Enjolras' hand on her shoulder. "We have to go," he said to her in an undertone. He nodded as Azelma, Claudine, and Grantaire exited the drawing room rather hastily. "Citizen Tholomyes, the rest of us must take our leave. I believe you have much to discuss with Citizenness Pontmercy and her family," he said more loudly.

Tholomyes paused before nodding. "Yes, I think that would be best," he murmured. "I'll see you soon." After a hasty round of goodbyes, the Pontmercys along with Tholomyes and Jean Valjean withdrew into the drawing room while the rest of the young people silently hurried out into the now dark street.

It was Azelma who finally dared to speak first. "I wonder what the Baron will think of Cosette now that he knows who her real father is."

"He's known the truth for some time now," Eponine retorted.

"Even so, why will it change things between them?" Claudine pointed out as she adjusted her bonnet. "What a frightful way for poor Cosette to learn the truth."

"Zeus confronted with Aletheia," Grantaire declared. "The mother lost to memory, the daughter still known to all-"

"Enough of that, Capital R," Enjolras warned from where he walked at the head of the group.

Eponine gave him a curious look as she quickened her steps to catch up with him. "You knew," she said to him.

"Not everything," Enjolras admitted awkwardly. "Citizen Valjean told me much of the story, but he did not mention any particular names. It was not necessary then."

' _No one ever thought that Cosette's real father would ever be in Paris,'_ Eponine noted. She bit her lip as she remembered her own mother's harsh voice yelling at Cosette, heaping accusation upon accusation regarding the other girl's mother. She shut her eyes, trying to remember those days in Montfermeil, those sporadic letters accompanied by a few francs, and little Cosette holding a broom that was even longer than she was tall. ' _Sometimes she would sit at the door, looking as if she was waiting...'_

"Eponine?" she heard Enjolras' voice ask from seemingly far away.

She opened her eyes and met his concerned gaze "Only remembering," she whispered. She frowned at the taste of blood on her lips and hastily wiped it away with the back of her hand while watching as the lamps were being lit along the length of the Rue des Filles du Calvaire.


	33. Letters and Missives

**Chapter 33: Missives and Warnings**

_January 4, 1833_

_My dear Antoine,_

_A Happy New Year to you, my son! I am writing to answer your letter, to congratulate you and wish you well with your candidacy, as well as to have a serious word with you about these elections. I am sorry for the delay with these replies; the mail coaches have been in need of repair lately and thus all messages in the vicinity of Aix have been delayed._

_Certainly you will fare well in the elections in Paris. Of course we all would have preferred that you had run in Aix instead, but I understand that you wish to help set the tone of political affairs, something which you can better accomplish in the capital. If it is true that you are now counted in the Radicaux party, then Paris is the place for you to be. It might interest you to know that the Courgourde-perhaps even your old friend Citizen Coutard-has specifically endorsed Etienne Raynaud to be this town's representative. He is being strongly opposed by our neighbour, Citizen de Bracy. Of course de Bracy is not blind as to where the Enjolras house lies._

_I understand that you wish to be frugal with this campaign, and that you wish to avoid any controversial expenditure. Yet the work of campaign, and subsequently a legislator, will necessitate some drain on your resources if only to keep up with the necessary social functions, not to mention helping the party's expenses for paraphernalia. You will need someone to help you out full-time, maybe as a secretary or in a similar arrangement. Again, another expense. Please reconsider your plans of managing solely on your savings and your fees from cases. I do not wish to hear of you starving or going about Paris in a threadbare coat in the middle of winter._

_Your mother sends her love and regards. She is still sorely disappointed that you have not expressed any interest to court any of the ladies of the Doulcet household. Please reassure her that your present state of bachelorhood will remain a temporary matter._

_Please also accept this small gift; it will assuage my fears greatly to know that you are provided for._

_Sincerely,_

_Your father_

This missive accompanied by a note for ten thousand francs finally arrived at the Rue Jean Jacques Rousseau on the twelfth morning of January. Several other letters from friends in various cities had also made their appearance that morning. Today, Enjolras had simply chosen to bring the correspondence with him as he went about meeting a few clients about their cases, before proceeding to a forum early in the afternoon, and then a short meeting with his fellow  _Radicaux_ candidates at a house near the Place du Pantheon. At present the meeting had deteriorated into an argument between Charles Jeanne and Gustave Paquet, a university professor and de-facto head of the  _Radicaux_ party.

"We cannot take any chances with these  _Constitutionalists,_ therefore we should keep a careful eye on them," Paquet said, gripping the edge of the table. "Many of them are simply Orleanists in new clothing, and we cannot run the risk of a distinct counterrevolution even during the campaign."

"You fire wide, you will hurt someone and the Republic will be accused of turning against its own people," a livid Jeanne retorted. "I can vouch that the men of the ateliers, regardless of what party they may ally themselves to, are not for Louis-Philippe."

"Do you really know all your neighbours so well, Jeanne?'

Someone nudged Enjolras and he turned to see to look at Etienne Blanchard, a fellow attorney and the  _Radicaux_  candidate at the Marais. "Paquet is rubbing all the wrong edges," Blanchard remarked in an undertone. "First Turpin, now Jeanne. Who knows which of us is next?"

Enjolras looked to an empty seat that had been originally intended for the fifth  _Radicaux_ candidate, Marcel Turpin. It had been several days since the meeting at the Place de Tivoli, where Paquet and Turpin had argued quite openly regarding the question of abolishing capital punishment. "Neither of them has attempted reconciliation?" he asked concernedly.

"Not those two," Blanchard scoffed, nearly knocking aside a stack of papers. "Paquet is steel and Turpin is ice; they will only wreck havoc on each other. You'd best stay out of it; don't even visit Turpin to inform him of what was discussed today."

"It is necessary for Citizen Turpin to be updated about the campaign," Enjolras pointed out.

The older man shook his head. "Paquet will turn his ire on you next, mark my word. It should have been  _you_  at the head of the party, not him. This is not a party for dead wood."

"But one with necessary influence," Enjolras said. Although he, Jeanne, and some other leaders were widely respected, it was Paquet who had proved to have a wider network outside of Paris and even in the city's more affluent environs.

"That doesn't change the evidence," Blanchard replied. "You've done a lot of work such as on the condensed pamphlet for next week."

"It's Jeanne and Turpin's work too," Enjolras reminded him. It had been Jeanne's idea to compile the  _Radicaux_ agenda into a smaller volume that was easier to read. Turpin had contributed some vital bits of information and summaries of the points in the little book.

"But your prose mostly," Blanchard said. "Now, what happened to that observer Tholomyes? I have heard little of him over the past week."

"When I called on him three days ago he was indisposed, but it is also likely he has other business of his own to finish," Enjolras explained. While he knew that Tholomyes was likely to be seeing to cases, he couldn't help but wonder if Tholomyes had been physically shaken by their visit to the Rue des Filles du Calvaire. ' _He is lucky that the vestiges of his youth aren't necessarily spectres,'_ he thought.

Blanchard brought out two cigars. "Maybe he'll be at the meeting here tonight," he mused. He held out one cigar to Enjolras. "Take one."

Enjolras shook his head. "Thank you, but I'm not in the habit." he said as he picked up the notes he'd been taking during the meeting, as well as the draft of the upcoming condensed pamphlet. "Citizens, unless there are other matters to be discussed, we should adjourn this meeting, and reconvene later," he said to Paquet and Jeanne a little impatiently.

Paquet's mustache twitched as he looked at Enjolras. "Do not forget your speech for the assembly on the nineteenth. It is the midpoint of the campaign and we must sustain the electorate's attention."

"They may need appeasement by then, especially if that  _fleur-de-lis_  returns," Blanchard muttered. Only Jeanne caught this, judging by the alarmed expression that spread on his face. Paquet merely waved dismissively and went back to some reading as Enjolras took his leave.

As soon as Enjolras was out of the house, he dug in his pocket for a piece of paper he'd made sure to keep separate from the other missives he had with him. He had found this particular message under a cup of slightly burned coffee on the kitchen table. Even without the signature he would have readily recognized the bold script anywhere.

_Enjolras,_

_Halle aux Vins before five this afternoon._

_Eponine_

It was the brevity of the message that piqued Enjolras' curiosity. ' _Something she was prevented from explaining this morning, no doubt,'_ he thought as he set off in the direction of the wine market. Normally Eponine had no reservations with waiting up for him or waking him up at uncanny hours to discuss some matters about the campaign. The previous day had been an exception though; he had hardly seen her except for a brief moment past midnight. He had simply presumed that Eponine had been meeting again with Claudine and their friends.

The wine market and its environs were as busy as could be expected in the late afternoon. Aside from the usual wine dealers, there were also a number of smaller stalls crammed with various goods, all manned by vendors loudly hawking their wares. There was music in the air; a man in a brightly colored smock was singing a haunting song as he strummed on a battered guitar. A few people threw some coins towards this gypsy but the mothers manning the shops pulled at the ears of the children who ventured too close to him. He noticed a blur in his peripheral vision, making him pause. He glanced around and caught sight of a girl in a brown pelisse. She was carrying a basket on one arm as she chatted with two rather wizened crones manning one of the stalls. ' _What are you doing now, Eponine?'_ he wondered, watching as his friend reached into her basket for a paper and began to write down something the pair was dictating. He waited for her to finish writing before he walked up in her direction, only to have her turn around when he was a few paces away.

"Enjolras!" she called as she went to him. "I was worried you would not find my note."

He shook his head. "You left it in the right place. Why did you want to meet me here?"

"Because I could be sure of it. I didn't mean to but I finished the last of Citizenness Leclair's wine last night, and I told her I'd get more," Eponine explained calmly. "Anyway I got to talk to people, like those two old ladies there, and earlier today an old sailor and his wife. They want to know when meetings are, so I got their addresses so I could send word to them."

He nodded approvingly. "I gather you've been busy for the past day or so."

"Ravigard has me minding the shop all alone since he's seeing to those personal orders of his," Eponine said a little grimly. "He's delivering them personally. I got a look at them, it's rather odd. He seems to have gotten something poetic or theatrical; the way he prints them is rather fussy."

"What do you mean?"

"It's even nicer than the way you, Courfeyrac, and Prouvaire write."

Enjolras couldn't help but smirk at this remark.  _'You wouldn't say that if you'd seen how I used to write back in Aix_ ,' he thought. "You never saw exactly what was written?" he asked.

"Not enough to make sense of it. But that's not quite what I've been busy with." She reached into the basket and handed to him a pamphlet, only that this one seemed rather bulkier than those he had seen before. "It's one of those you asked for last week. I thought it needed a change or two."

"Such as?"

"Well I crossed some phrases and wrote down easier ones; you gentlemen write such confusing words sometimes and it would make other people's heads hurt. You also forgot to mention a bit about how high the prices of bread can be, so I had to ask a bit about that and I listed those there."

He flipped through the book and found that Eponine had slipped a note between nearly every two or three pages. "This is very  _thorough_ ," he said, almost in disbelief at the girl's audacity. "This will be useful when we make a newer and shorter pamphlet. Thank you."

"I told you I could do something," she said with a grin. "Have you seen that long note towards the end?"

Enjolras opened the book to its last page and found two folded sheets there. "On Women and Their State of Employment?" he read aloud.

Eponine shrugged. "Claudine thought it would be better as leaflets, but Cosette and Musichetta said it may as well be explained in the next book."

He quietly looked through the new addition; he guessed that the unfamiliar but fine penmanship was Cosette's, but the turns of phrase were the doing of the other women. "There is a meeting at the Place du Pantheon tonight then," he said at last. "If you want this chapter included in the next volume, it has to be mentioned at the meeting."

Her eyes widened. "In front of everyone?"

"Perhaps only to the necessary persons," he replied, already wondering what could possibly result from a discussion involving his friends and his colleagues. "That is, unless the entire assembly wishes to hear more about the writing."

Eponine bit her lip nervously for a moment as she put the papers back in her basket. "Claudine will be around to explain it," she said as they began walking. "She can say it better than most of us can."

"You might be surprised at who else may be up to it," he pointed out as he reached over to help her with the basket.

She merely gave him a slight shrug by way of reply. When they arrived at the Rue Jean Jacques Rousseau, they saw that the front door of their tenement was open again.

Musichetta, Joly, and Bossuet met them in the front hall. "Enjolras, what are you doing here? Shouldn't you be at the Pantheon now?" Bossuet asked by way of greeting.

"I need to empty my pockets first," Enjolras replied, gesturing to his coat. He noticed that Musichetta was clutching what appeared to be a bottle wrapped in paper, while Joly had a small box with him. "Are you attempting one of your homeopathic doses again?" Enjolras asked Joly.

"Something for the aches in my wrists; I'm afraid it's rheumatism," Joly muttered. "We're waiting for Combeferre; he's still upstairs."

"I keep telling him to rest them but do these doctors listen?" Musichetta said with a long-suffering look.

"Lawyers are just as bad too," Eponine quipped. "Chetta, there's something I need to talk to you about, could you come with me to Citizenness Leclair's for a bit? I think my brothers are there too."

Musichetta nodded. "Don't you break this," she warned Joly as she passed the bottle to him and then followed Eponine into the concierge's lodge.

Joly put down the bottle and began wiping his spectacles. "She wants to come with us to the assembly at the Pantheon," he said. "Is that a good idea?"

"Tonight it  _will_  be necessary," Enjolras replied before proceeding to explain the matter of the pamphlets and the proposed contribution to the next volume.

Bossuet wiped his forehead. "Will the party approve of it? It's all for the sake of equality, yes, but this isn't exactly a Girondist situation."

"But we'll be accused of being no better than the Jacobins if we do not let them participate," Joly muttered. "Unless there is a way...Enjolras, you can still bring up the matter more quietly? They will not have to bring it up in the plenary."

"It might be unavoidable," Enjolras said. ' _Of course speaking for them would be an option, but that would not be entirely just either,'_ he decided before quickly excusing himself to his room so he could leave all his unanswered missives at his desk. Much to his dismay, he found a whole new pile of letters by his door. ' _I must either be absent this evening, or have an absence of sleep to answer these,'_ he realized as he brought in these messages. As he was changing his frock coat for a rather less worn looking tailcoat, he could hear footsteps on the stairs and voices in the hall, as if some sort of debacle was going on.

He stepped out of his room and saw Combeferre on the stairs, leaning against the banister as if he was exhausted. "Is something the matter?" Enjolras asked concernedly. The last time he'd seen Combeferre in such low spirits was when he had first lost a patient at the Necker.

The physician merely let out a sigh before looking at Enjolras. "A simple argument."

Enjolras shook his head and touched Combeferre's shoulder. "The evidence says otherwise."

Combeferre crossed his arms and took a breath through gritted teeth. "It's merely a disagreement between me and Claudine. Hopefully it will be resolved soon." He looked up at the sound of a door opening. "That's Neville; I'd better bring him downstairs," he said before hurrying up the stairs. He returned a little while later carrying the child on his back.

Neville waved at Enjolras. "I did all my sums today," the child said proudly. "I can add more than my own ten fingers."

"That's good," Enjolras replied. "How about your reading?"

Neville frowned in response, eliciting another sigh from Combeferre. "He is still more interested in looking at pictures," the doctor explained before carrying Neville downstairs.

Enjolras returned to his room to get his overcoat and hurried downstairs in time to see Combeferre and Neville in the front hall while Eponine was shutting the front door. "Where are the others?" Enjolras asked them.

"They went bring their things home and then they'll see us at the Pantheon," Eponine answered, looking over her shoulder at him. "Claudine went with them; she said she's needed at home?"

"Her father isn't always well," Combeferre said before carrying Neville to the concierge's lodge.

Eponine sat down near the door and bit her lip, as if contemplating something. "I promised Jacques I'd wake him up when we return," she murmured.

"If you feel you must stay here, you need not attend," Enjolras pointed out.

Eponine shook her head. "Musichetta won't want to be alone. I promised her already I'd be there. You said too that I might be needed." She looked up at the sound of a knock on the door. "It's unlocked!"

Courfeyrac peered in and doffed his hat. "Good evening. I thought you'd be halfway to the Pantheon by now?"

"We were just about to leave," Enjolras said. He noticed that Courfeyrac was holding an envelope with him. "Was that at the door?"

"On the step," the newcomer clarified. "A shy admirer, Enjolras?"

Enjolras raised an eyebrow as he surveyed the envelope. Its entire surface was blank save for a red, non-descript seal. Inside the envelope was a blank sheet of paper. He carefully inspected it for any identifying mark, but found nothing. He went over to where there was a candle on the table and he carefully held the paper several inches above the flame.

"What are you doing?" Eponine asked confusedly.

"You'll see," Enjolras said grimly.

Courfeyrac shook his head at this. "I thought it was only Combeferre who was experimenting with his own invisible ink."

Eponine shook her head. "Invisible ink! You must be joking!"

"The simplest means is with lemon juice," Combeferre called as he walked back into the hall. "You can use it with a quill or a brush, and it does not leave a trace until it is heated."

"You would know. I remember you and Foulon making an experiment with it," Courfeyrac said. "A very  _smelly_  experiment,"

"Courfeyrac, I am not sure it is  _appropriate_  to repeat that story here," Enjolras warned, carefully checking the paper he held.

"What happened?" Eponine asked, glancing at all of the men.

Combeferre glared at Courfeyrac. "It was only a problem with the mordant," he muttered.

"Mordant?" Eponine asked.

"A substance to make the ink stick to the paper," Combeferre explained wearily. "Otherwise it would be far too vulnerable to the elements."

"It was Foulon's idea; his aunt is a dyer and she had some suggestions," Courfeyrac explained. "In some places they used to save the contents of chamberpots for mordant."

Eponine gaped at him. "Is this a joke, Courfeyrac?"

"My dear, I wish we could say otherwise but a gentleman cannot lie," Courfeyrac replied, clearly trying to keep a straight face.

Eponine covered her mouth in a failed attempt to stifle a burst of laughter. "So he got it and he mixed everything together?"

"I had to heat it though," Combeferre admitted shamefacedly.

"It gave the game away," Courfeyrac added. "I dropped in just as Citizenness Leclair was marching upstairs to ask about the stench."

It was all that Enjolras could do not to cringe at the memory; he had been unfortunate enough on that day to arrive home in time to find his concierge screeching at the offenders, with Courfeyrac as a less than helpful audience. "She was on the brink of making us put  _in writing_  that we would not attempt such things again on the premises," he pointed out as he pulled the paper away from the candle. smoothed the missive out on a table to look at a fine brown script spelling out this single line:

_Citizen Enjolras: Remember 9 Thermidor Year II_

Combeferre shook his head while Courfeyrac gritted his teeth. Eponine frowned, as if deep in thought. Enjolras shook his head as he inspected the note again. signature or device followed this invocation of a terrible date for the Jacobins. "Courfeyrac are you sure there was no one outside the house just now?" he asked.

"No other soul," Courfeyrac said. "Have you noticed anyone shadowing the house?"

"No, and besides we aren't home all the time to notice these things," Eponine replied worriedly. "I don't think it's Patron-Minette this time."

"Most likely not. Anyway it won't be the first time we've had someone watching this place," Combeferre remarked. "I wonder what ink they have."

"How did they know that someone here knows how to use it?" Courfeyrac chimed in. "Enjolras, if that letter isn't a threat, I don't know what is."

"You may be right, but we cannot conclude anything," Enjolras said as he folded up the letter. Even so he felt a chill on remembering that this note was delivered to his doorstep and not to the Hotel de Ville or to the Palais de Justice. Was it possible that the sender was also interested in the other residents of the house? He went over to the window and peered outside, only to see nothing but the street lit dimly by gas lamps. He looked over his shoulder and saw Combeferre and Courfeyrac also adjusting their overcoats while Eponine buttoned up her pelisse.

"Shall we go?" Combeferre asked after a moment.

Enjolras nodded. ' _It isn't a long way to the Pantheon, but we cannot take any chances,'_ he thought as he pulled on his overcoat and went to open the door.


	34. Known

**Chapter 34: Known**

Although Eponine had passed by the Place du Pantheon numerous times, she had never seen the place lit up with so many torches or crowded with so many people before. ‘ _It has to be more than just the Radicaux party here tonight,’_ she realized as she stood on tiptoe in hopes of getting a better look at the assembly. Even so it was difficult to tell where the crowd began or ended in the park; some persons were merely passing through but were now slowing down to become bystanders, bystanders were turning into attendees, and more attendees were pressing towards the entrance to the Pantheon, which apparently would be the stage for the evening’s meeting.

She looked to where Enjolras and Courfeyrac were talking to another young lawyer, a man named Potier. Combeferre had left a little while ago in order to visit the Necker; he hoped to attend to some patients in the ward and leave to still be able to attend the latter half of the assembly. ‘ _Where is Musichetta?’_ she wondered as she stepped aside to let Courfeyrac pass as he went off to meet another friend. She stood on tiptoe again, but after a while she gritted her teeth, knowing it was almost impossible to locate her friend given her vantage point.

She felt Enjolras’ hand touch her arm. “Stay close,” he advised.                                                        

“Enjolras, where are we going?” she asked, grabbing his hand before he could step away.  

“To the platform,” he said. “Citizen Paquet will be there.”

Eponine nodded, recognizing the name of the candidate. “You’re going to tell him...them about the notes, the new chapter?” she asked cautiously, curling her fingers around his as they made their way through the crowd.

“Yes. He will help ensure that it will be included in the publication,” Enjolras replied, glancing at her over his shoulder.

 _‘He was not joking about this!’_ Eponine realized, feeling a frisson of trepidation. It was difficult to keep up with Enjolras in this confusion especially with people going this way and that, and yet still pressing in their general direction. Twice she thought she would lose him in the crowd but his grip was surer than hers and she had no choice but to follow him. Suddenly she found that Enjolras had managed to bring them to the steps of the Pantheon. Sitting there was a gentleman dressed in a somber black outfit but with a red cockade in his lapel. His dark hair was shot through with silver strands in some places. A pair of spectacles obscured much of his face. Eponine could not remember his name but she was sure she’d seen him before during some _Radicaux_ meetings over the past few weeks.  

Enjolras nodded to this man. “Good evening, Citizen Paquet.”

Paquet looked up; clearly he had been caught up in the depths of thought. “There you are, Citizen Enjolras,” he said as he got to his feet. His small eyes narrowed as he looked at Eponine. “I’ve seen you before. What is your name again?”

Eponine tried to speak but ended up wincing; somehow her throat had gone dry. “Eponine Thenardier,” she finally managed to say clearly. “I work at Citizen Ravigard’s bookshop.”

“Yes, yes, I remember now, the girl who delivered the pamphlets,” Paquet muttered. “Well the ladies get the best places tonight, down at the front. There may still be benches there.”

“She has some suggestions regarding the pamphlets,” Enjolras said firmly.

“What, are they too plain?” Paquet asked as his lips twisted in a half smile.

Eponine felt her cheeks burn slightly at this jibe but she still looked him in the eye. “It is about the writing, Citizen.” She clumsily dug in the pocket of her pelisse for the pamphlet in which she’d taken notes in and handed it to Paquet. “I only thought it would be easier to read it that way.”

Paquet grunted as he flipped through some of the pages. “You work as Ravigard’s editor?”

“No, not really,” Eponine replied. “There’s an addition, it’s towards the end. It’s about what the party can do to help ladies in their places of employment.”  

The professor bit back an oath as he finally found the handwritten pages. “This is entirely in your hand?” he asked her suspiciously.

“No. I worked with some friends: Citizenness Claudine Andreas, Citizenness Musichetta Laurain, and Citizenness Cosette Pontmercy,” she replied.  “Citizenness Laurain will be here tonight too.”

He handed the pamphlet back to her. “We’ll discuss this in the assembly after seeing to other matters,” he said before quickly checking his watch. “Excuse me for a moment; I am needed elsewhere.”  

Enjolras nodded sternly. “Thank you for your consideration, Citizen,” he said cordially to Paquet before motioning for Eponine to follow him to one side.  

Eponine bit her lip as she pocketed the pamphlet. “I do not think he liked it very much,” she said flatly as she looked at Enjolras.

“He’s startled. It’s not for you to worry about,” Enjolras told her, his voice firm but with a quiet sort of confidence. “He’ll discuss this pamphlet later, you can be sure of it.”

“Will he remember?”

“He will. It is too important to miss.”

She bit her lip, hoping he would be right. ‘ _He sounds like he could make it happen,’_ she thought, watching him as he observed the crowd. She realized that people were also throwing looks in their direction; in fact she was sure she heard a grisette or two tittering someplace. Even when Enjolras was quiet he could still draw so much attention. He had the air of a man who was certain of his plans, not that of someone who had received a death threat just an hour ago. ‘ _How does he do it?’_ she wondered as she tugged the edge of her glove over her twisted left hand, frowning  momentarily when the fabric snagged on her little finger. “I should go; they’ll be looking for you and I’m sure Musichetta is trying to find me too,” she finally said. “I will see you later?” she asked, managing a smile.

“Indeed,” he said, returning her smile. “You have to be prepared to explain it all later.”

‘ _Perhaps just to him and the other candidates,’_ Eponine thought as she managed a nod. She hurried through the crowd, hoping to find a good place on the fringes. At length she caught sight of Musichetta seated on a rail, listening amusedly to Joly, Bossuet, and Courfeyrac discussing something nearby.  

Musichetta waved to her and motioned for her to take a seat. “You can see more from here.”

Eponine pulled herself up to sit on the rail and smiled approvingly. From where they were they had a good view of the Pantheon’s entrance as well as of the nearer reaches of the park. “Enjolras had me meet Citizen Paquet. He’s the head of the _Radicaux_ group here, if I remember well.”

“That’s good. So does that mean we’ll be discussing the pamphlet later?” Musichetta asked eagerly. “It would be nice if everyone could hear about it.”

“It should be Claudine here with us. She would know what to say to these gentlemen,” Eponine said before biting her lip. ‘ _Why did she and Combeferre have to argue tonight?’_

The older grisette sighed worriedly. “Eponine, you also wrote a lot of it.”

“Half or so. I think about two pages and some inches. Not much more than that. You could speak too,” Eponine insisted.

Musichetta shook her head. “I wish I could but I don’t have the way of words that Claudine has. You wrote more than I did. Enjolras already introduced you to Paquet. It has to be you.” She looked past Eponine at someone walking up to them. “Good evening, Leonor.”

Eponine gritted her teeth at the sight of Leonor’s haughty face, but she managed a polite nod. “I didn’t know you’d be here too,” she said by way of greeting.

“I’m just as much a member of the party as everyone else here,” Leonor said coolly as she adjusted the red cockade she wore in her bonnet.

“Citizenness Torres, is Feuilly with you?” Courfeyrac asked.

“He has something to attend to at the atelier,” Leonor replied, shrugging casually. “There is talk that tonight’s agenda will include some _pages_ penned by Claudine?”

“You would have had a hand in it if we could have found you earlier in the week,” Musichetta said.

“Claudine told me about it, but I had some problems of my own to manage,” Leonor laughed.  “I don’t see her here though; how will that writing be discussed then?”

“Because Claudine had more than one co-author,” Musichetta said, nudging Eponine.

Leonor’s eyes narrowed at the young girl. “You?”

“I’ve had an education,” Eponine said, sitting up straight.

 “Parroting Claudine or Citizen Enjolras does not count,” Leonor retorted, crossing her arms.

“Leonor!” Musichetta hissed.

“She has to know that this isn’t a game for a young girl.”

“I know this isn’t a game,” Eponine snapped. “I do work—“

“You aren’t the only one who binds and gives out books—“ Leonor added before someone made a ‘shhh’ sound while other bystanders glared at her. She rolled her eyes before looking at Eponine. “Perhaps you ought to reconsider speaking about the pages tonight. It would be a shame to let Claudine’s work go to waste.”

“It is Eponine’s work, as well as mine, and Cosette’s. I trust that our friend will not destroy what we have worked on,” Musichetta said firmly.

Leonor nodded sceptically. “I wish you the best of luck then,” she muttered before walking off quickly.

Bossuet clucked his tongue as he watched her leave. “I do pity Feuilly.”

“He enjoys the challenge,” Courfeyrac quipped. He looked concernedly at Eponine. “You do not need to listen to what she said. You will do well, I’m sure of it.”

“I am glad you think so,” Eponine said as she opened the pamphlet and brought out the pages that she’d shown Enjolras earlier that day. The prose, a result of several evenings of work at the Rue des Filles du Calvaire, now suddenly seemed almost frightening; every word threatened to trip up her tongue or bring her up short. ‘ _I’m not Claudine, I’m not like her. I’m not even like Enjolras,’_ she told herself as she shut the papers into the pamphlet again. Claudine always knew what to do. Enjolras usually had the right thing to say, especially in these situations. This was uncharted territory for a Thenardier. 

All of a sudden she couldn’t help but laugh a little at the possibility that perhaps, if her father ever got wind of this incident and of how she was in such close proximity to such influential figures, he would be more than impressed. ‘ _He’d be happier though if I was doing his business,’_ she thought as she focused her attention on the meeting, where another rather exuberant candidate was giving a speech about making a law to control the prices of bread and other goods.

“Blanchard has to be careful. The people are hanging on to every word,” Bossuet suddenly remarked from where he and his friends were still standing.

Musichetta fiddled with the string of her bonnet. “Is what he’s saying really possible? That prices won’t be raised _at all?”_ she asked.

“Not in its strictest sense,” Joly said. “He can put a maximum price on basic goods. He can suggest that the prices only be raised by a certain amount at a given time.”

“It still takes away a few more francs,” Musichetta said, shaking a wayward curl out of her face. “I’m lucky to even make four or five francs a _day_. I cannot spare anything more.”

“That’s true for all of us, Musichetta,” Eponine pointed out.

“I hope Enjolras remembers that he should never promise anything that the party cannot deliver,” Courfeyrac chimed in as he dusted off his hat. He frowned on finding a dent near the brim. “He asked me for a little help with one of his upcoming speeches,” he explained to the group.

“Which is about?” Eponine asked.

“Reforming the penal system,” Courfeyrac replied. “First, an end to capital punishment.”

“How fitting. If things had gone differently, we would all have earned the death penalty for being on the barricades,” Bossuet said before Musichetta elbowed him.

Eponine swallowed hard as she stuffed her hands in her coatsleeves for warmth. She flinched as she looked about; the torchlight and the clamor of the crowd tonight at the Pantheon reminded her somewhat of the tumult at the Rue de Chanvrerie of months ago. ‘ _They don’t know or remember that I went there to die,’_ she thought, feeling a shiver of horror at the memory of that desperate evening.

After a few moments she realized that the cheering and applause had stopped; Paquet was on the steps and he had raised his hands for order. “I believe we have another matter to address, about an addition to our pamphlets?” he asked.”Where is Citizenness Dernard, Dernardier....Thenardier?”

Eponine’s eyes widened as she gripped the railing she was seated on, if only to give her something to hold on to as she carefully stepped to the ground.  She did not dare to meet anyone’s gaze as she made her way to the steps, but she could hear some of the whispers in the throng. When she sneaked a glance over her shoulder she saw that Courfeyrac and Musichetta were not far behind her. ‘ _I hope Joly and Bossuet kept our places then,’_ she thought as she finally arrived at the front of the crowd.

Almost immediately she caught sight of Enjolras.  “Am I really supposed to go up there?” she asked. 

“You wrote it, you have the right to speak of it in the assembly,” he said, his voice calm and confident.

At that moment Paquet cleared his throat, shooting an impatient glance at the two young people. He nodded to Eponine brusquely. “Bring it up here.”

He took the notes from her and held them up. “Some of the ladies of our party, under the direction of Citizen---“ he began before he locked eyes with Enjolras and some of his other colleagues. He cleared his throat before speaking again.  “Under their own impetus, rather, have decided to ask for another issue to be added to the campaign agenda,” he amended. He leafed through the pages and squinted. “This is the issue of the treatment of women employed in various occupations---“

“Citizen, perhaps it would be more fitting for the _actual_ authors of the text to explain it personally?” another man said.

“Citizen Blanchard, a woman does not speak in front of the assembly,” Paquet said sternly.  

“Why shouldn’t they, if they already have the right to suffrage and are already _actively_ involved in the day to day work of the party?” Enjolras asked.

Paquet cast a vicious glance at his fellow candidates. “We shall deliberate on this later, after this meeting,” he muttered.

“With all due respect, Citizen Paquet, it is only just that the rest of the party should be informed as to why this matter should be considered in this campaign,” Enjolras answered more loudly, his tone still level. Nevertheless the sternness in his face made his stance on the matter clear. “We called a meeting at the Musain explicitly for that purpose, and we hold these assemblies in order to consolidate our positions. An addition to the legislative agenda is not something to be discussed behind closed doors.”

Eponine stared at Enjolras, now that it dawned on her what he was aiming to do. She then risked a glance at Musichetta, who was grinning from ear to ear. Standing next to her, Courfeyrac was aghast. She did not even want to imagine what Leonor was thinking. ‘ _If Claudine were here, she would not back down before these gentlemen,’_ she thought. Yet she knew of the whispers and giggles that were starting in the crowd, surely directed towards the fact that she was a lone girl, standing on a stage full of men. ‘ _Is this what Papa meant by a femme de publique, like a lady at the theater?’_ she wondered, willing herself not to falter despite the bitterness of bile rising in her throat.  

“Citizen Paquet!” she called before the professor could turn his back on her. A smile played across her lips as she saw his eyes widen and his jaw drop. “You yourself said this pamphlet would be discussed in the assembly. I am not the only one who can tell you what you told me,” she said seriously, determined to make every word heard. 

Paquet’s jaw was set as he stared at her. “We have other matters to discuss this evening, Citizenness.” 

She shook her head. “We can start now, so you can continue with what you want to talk about.”

The professor’s lips moved as if he was to speak before he swallowed hard and shook his head. “Since this matter concerns the women, then a separate assembly for them might be more fitting to...discuss it properly,” he announced at last, levelling his gaze at Enjolras and Blanchard towards the end of this statement. His eyes were narrowed as he looked at Eponine again. “You then will be in charge of organizing it. Before the nineteenth, our bigger event.”

Eponine bit her lip at this middling concession. “And the chapter?” she asked.

“Will be included. After deliberations. You may take your seat again Citizenness Thenardier,” Paquet replied in a less clipped tone.  

Eponine heard the crowd buzzing and murmuring as she descended the Pantheon’s steps. Almost as soon as she felt her feet on the cold ground again, she was met by Musichetta, who was nearly trembling. The older grisette quickly pulled Eponine close, both to comfort the girl and to muffle her own words. “That pig should have given you a chance to speak.”

Eponine smirked at her friend’s choice of words. “Musichetta, he could hear you! “

“He deserves it. He used to give Bossuet a hard time at the university too,” Musichetta said, stepping away. “At least that chapter will be printed?”

“I think so,” Eponine said, managing a brave smile. She glanced at Enjolras and bit her lip; his countenance was rather troubled and disappointed but there was a familiar look of resolve in his eyes. ‘ _It’s not over tonight for him,’_ she realized, a thought that was only confirmed when she saw him beginning to speak rather strongly with Paquet.

Courfeyrac shook his head. “Lines drawn _within_ the Convention,” he remarked. After a few moments he waved at Blanchard, who was approaching them. “Come to toast the rout?” he asked.

“No, it would not be gentlemanly,” Blanchard said with a wry smile. He bowed to Eponine and Musichetta after Courfeyrac made the appropriate introductions. “Your courage is admirable, Citizennesses.  I see that Citizenness Thenardier is a Manon in the making?”

Eponine shook her head; the name evoked stories of a brilliant, though vilified lady who served sugar water and eventually came to an end under the guillotine. “Well I hope not in terms of _fate_ , Citizen.”

“No, not that,” Blanchard chuckled. He whistled as he looked at where Enjolras and Paquet were still carrying out their rather heated discussion. “I’m afraid that my point is being driven home far too early. I will look forward to seeing your work in the pamphlets soon, Citizennesses,” he said before hurrying back up to the steps.

Musichetta shook her head as Blanchard left. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was getting fresh.” She gave a teasing smile to Joly, who was standing nearby with Bossuet. “You know I wouldn’t give in to just _anyone_ , Patrice.”

Joly rubbed his nose with his cane, if only to hide the worried look on his face. “Is there anyone else?”

Bossuet groaned even as he stepped aside to let Musichetta soothe her obviously anxious lover. “Will you be staying for the rest of the assembly, Eponine?” he asked.

“No. I _do_ have three brothers waiting,” Eponine said. She glanced over to where Enjolras was still with his colleagues. “Tell him I just had to see to something.”

“I’ll see you home. Then I’ll go back here,” Courfeyrac offered.

“What about Paulette?” Musichetta asked him.

The lawyer shrugged. “She can do without me for one evening.”

Eponine rolled her eyes. _‘They are probably having a row too,’_ she couldn’t help thinking as she said goodbye to the rest of her friends, and followed Courfeyrac out of the park. She noticed that he had a rather amused, almost mischievous grin on his face. “Did something happen?” she asked.

“An eventful evening,” Courfeyrac said. “Apart from that ominous note, you cannot deny that this has been a rather good turn of events.”

“Good?” Eponine asked.

Courfeyrac’s brow furrowed, but clearly he was on the brink of laughter. “You did not notice?” He shook his head. “Citizen Blanchard is right; we will see that work in ink. You’ll be printing it in Ravigard’s shop by Tuesday at the latest.”

“You sound like you know something,” she said.

Courfeyrac sighed deeply. “Enjolras will probably have news in the morning for you.”

Eponine nodded before proceeding to ask Courfeyrac a little more about the issue of capital punishment, if only to stop dwelling on the day’s mishaps. Yet despite her best efforts, that slight feeling of unease returned when she was at home, almost as soon as she’d tucked her brothers in for the night. _‘You can start forgetting about it in the morning,’_ she decided as she tried to fall asleep, only to be plagued by dreams of letters, dark alleys, and blank stares she could not hide from.

It was dawn when she finally decided to give up the idea of getting a little more rest in favour of making an early start to the day. ‘ _Never mind if it’s a Sunday,’_ she thought as she made her way downstairs, towards the telltale aroma of coffee. As quietly as she could, she sat down at the kitchen table, wondering how long it would take till the young man seated an arm’s length away would look up from reading the day’s edition of the _Moniteur_.

 “You tried,” she said after a few moments as he put down the paper. She couldn’t help but grin at the sight of him in his shirtsleeves, with his hair slightly tousled as if he’d also just gotten out of bed.  

Enjolras smiled briefly as he handed a cup of coffee to her. “It was not the right time. At least he should not take credit for what you and our friends worked on.”

 “What happened after I left?”

“Jeanne spoke about reforming the ateliers, while Citizen Paquet made a speech about changes to the educational system, “he replied. He smirked when he heard her scoff. “He is a professor after all.”

“He’d say different if there were _women_ running for the legislature.”

“Perhaps.” Enjolras waited for her to finish taking a sip before he continued. “By tonight there will be instructions for the next round of pamphlets. Your addition will be included.”

She put down the cup, partly because she’d sipped too much and the coffee nearly scalded her tongue. “All of it?” she asked, resting a hand on his arm.

“That is what they promised. You can go to the party’s headquarters opposite the Place du Pantheon to verify what will be printed,” Enjolras said, looking her in the face.

Eponine nodded in disbelief. “Thank you. I’ll tell Claudine.”

 “Today?”

She bit her lip, wondering if she should mention the quarrel between Claudine and Combeferre. “She wrote more than I did. She has to know,” she said at last.

“Then it is only right,” he concurred as he reached for his own coffee cup.

For a few moments the two were silent, until they were both finished with their coffee. “Citizen Blanchard said that I was like that Citizenness Roland, Manon,” Eponine said. “He’s wrong. He might have been more right to say it about Claudine.”

Enjolras smirked. “Both of you are very different from Citizenness Roland.” He got up and went to the cupboard and brought out a whole loaf of bread, which he set down on the kitchen table. “I’ll see you later, Eponine,” he said before quickly heading upstairs.

‘ _He has to be careful after that note,’_ she couldn’t help thinking as she listened to his footsteps fade. Whoever sent the letter knew him well, perhaps from even before last year’s revolt. ‘ _Someone he speaks to every day, maybe?’_ she wondered. The sounds of several raucous sets of footsteps, as well as Jacques’ cheerfully greeting Enjolras on the stairs, interrupted her reverie, prompting her to start preparing her brother’s breakfasts.

It was nearly midday by the time she could make her way to the Andreas residence at Picpus. When she arrived, she saw Claudine bent over a book of accounts in the front room of her father’s shop. “Claudine, have you heard the news yet?” she greeted her friend enthusiastically.

“What again, Eponine?” Claudine asked distractedly as she dipped her pen in an inkwell.

Eponine rolled her eyes. ‘ _She is sometimes as absent minded as Combeferre,’_ she thought as she walked up to her friend’s desk. “Claudine, _everything_ we wrote is going to be published.”

Claudine dropped her pen. “What? Who told you?”

“Enjolras told me, we were at the Place du Pantheon---“

“Tell me _everything_ , Eponine!”

The younger girl quickly narrated the events of the previous evening, watching with amusement as Claudine’s eyes widened with shock, then with fury at Paquet’s initial reaction. “I do not know what Enjolras said. He never told me exactly. But it must have been enough,” she finished.

“It will be at great cost to him,” Claudine remarked. “Don’t worry; he’ll still win the election, especially if it gets out that he helped champion the changes in the pamphlet. But of course Citizen Paquet will now mark him out. It’s only fortunate that Jeanne and Citizen Blanchard are on Enjolras’ side, mostly.”

“I might have only embarrassed myself, and him, last night,” Eponine confessed.

Claudine paused to blot the ink on her book. “I doubt it. If Citizen Paquet asked _you_ and not someone else to organize the women’s assembly, then it is something of a challenge.”

“I need your help, but if Combeferre doesn’t want you to---“

“Never mind Francois. I helped write that part of the book, and I will help you see this through.”

Eponine picked up the pen that her friend had dropped. “Musichetta will help. Leonor might....well if _you_ talk to her.”

“It’s her choice and possibly her loss. Anyway we have Paulette and Cosette around too; they will certainly want to do something,” Claudine said smartly. She wiped her hands on a rag.  “We’d better go to your room and get your best bonnet, or if you want, you could borrow mine.”

Eponine looked at her incredulously. “Where are we going?”

“We have to talk to the friends of our friends, and get you known,” Claudine said with a grin.   
“I’m sure there will be some talk, in the _Radicaux_ circles at least, about last night. We need to make sure that at least the ladies know it was not just a rumor or illusion.”

 

 

 


	35. Youth and Folly

**Chapter 35: Youth and Folly**

As the 19th of January drew nearer, the campaign for the legislature was also approaching a feverish pitch. It was reaching the point where in it was becoming virtually impossible for almost anyone involved to catch more than a few moments of rest owing to the sheer number of sorties, meetings, and arguments in addition to earning one's daily bread. "I wager that you even revise your speech in your sleep," Courfeyrac told Enjolras as they were walking to the Rue Jean-Jacques Rousseau past five in the afternoon of January 17.

"If it was possible, it could give me a few more minutes to work each day," Enjolras deadpanned. He held back a yawn as they rounded the street corner. ' _If only to make the best of the latter half of this entire campaign,'_ he thought.

Courfeyrac snorted. "You should use that time to  _sleep_ , my friend. You ought to try that before Combeferre and Joly have to go as far as mixing sleeping draughts for you."

"I'll manage it; I should have some time this evening," Enjolras replied calmly as he adjusted his grip on a satchel crammed with various books and papers for his cases and the campaign. He had originally been invited to a dinner with some merchants, but he'd gotten a note earlier that day that his host had unexpectedly been laid low with the flux. "I heard that you and Citizen Blanchard paid a visit to the Marais yesterday?"

"We surprised the Pontmercys with our presence," Courfeyrac replied with a grin. "It turns out that attorney Citizen Tholomyes, is now acquainted with the  _grandfather_  of Marius?"

Enjolras raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps Pontmercy introduced them," he remarked. Privately, he could not think of any other reason besides civility for Marius to introduce his erring not-quite father-in-law to Citizen Gillenormand.

"Well they managed to drag in cobwebs of all sorts into a drawing room. Joly would agree that it is a very unhealthy form of discussion," Courfeyrac said with a shudder. "Marius keeps the peace of course, but Cosette is formidable. If she was feeling a little less poorly she certainly would have attended that assembly last night near the Halle aux Vins. Paulette told me that it was a success on the whole."

"That's good to hear."

Courfeyrac gave him an astonished look. "Didn't Eponine tell you anything about it?"

"I haven't had the chance to speak with her yet, at least at length," Enjolras said. He shook his head at Courfeyrac's exasperated groan. The truth was that he had almost no opportunity to talk with Eponine about Paquet's challenging her to organize an assembly for the women of the party. It was only to be expected: he had work and his own sorties while she was busy with the bookshop's regular work, printing the new pamphlets, and planning the assembly. Over the past few days Enjolras had heard her footsteps and her voice in the hall, and a few times they'd exchanged pleasantries, but hardly anything more. In fact he'd woken up yesterday to find she'd left a whole kettle of burned coffee in the kitchen, and he'd returned home at one in the morning only to hear that she had only stopped by to bring her brothers home. Today he had to leave before he could check if she'd returned home at all. ' _At least she can keep her head about her nowadays,'_ he thought, remembering how she'd spoken to Paquet at the Place du Pantheon.

Almost as soon as he and Courfeyrac stepped into the tenement, they were greeted by Jacques running down the stairs. "You're home!" he chirped, tugging on Enjolras' coat.

"Just tonight," Enjolras said. "Where are your brothers?"

Jacques pointed upwards. "Combeferre is helping them with big numbers."

Courfeyrac laughed. "I hardly doubt Gavroche is enjoying that."

Jacques tugged on Enjolras' coat again. "Ponine is here."

"Ah good for you then," Courfeyrac said, clapping Enjolras on the shoulder. "What is she doing?"

Jacques rubbed his nose. "Cutting a book."

' _What for?'_ Enjolras wondered as he quickly walked upstairs. He knocked twice on the Thenardiers' door only to have Paulette open it.

"Enjolras, this is a surprise," Paulette said amusedly, holding on to the doorjamb for balance. "Eponine! Bahorel! Look who's here!"

"Your timing is impeccable, Enjolras," Bahorel called. "We've just found something that you need to see right away."

"Is Maurice here with you?" Paulette asked Enjolras.

"He's down-," Enjolras began before he had to quickly step aside to allow Paulette to walk to the stairway and shout for Courfeyrac to come upstairs. He peered in the room and saw Eponine and Bahorel seated on the floor, next to a lamp and a book that had been stripped of its leather covering and then cut into several sections. "What is this about?"

"Figuring out something about Citizen Ravigard's orders. Well, we don't know  _everything_ , but I think there's something," Eponine said.

"You  _took_  one of his books?" Enjolras asked slowly as he sat beside her.

"Actually someone spoiled it," Eponine replied with a grimace, indicating some wrinkled and unevenly colored edges in some sections. "I simply got it in the back alley."

Enjolras shook his head at the carelessness of the entire situation. He noticed that Eponine seemed to have a split lip, but before he could ask she caught his gaze and shook her head slightly. "What have you found?" he finally said, resting a hand on her arm.

"Places," Bahorel said, handing over the book's cover. "It's a perfect place to conceal a message if one carefully marks the reverse side."

Enjolras held up the sheet to the lamp and saw several addresses clearly printed there, located in various quartiers of the city. "Why did you take the rest of the book apart?"

"Looking for other hiding places and codes," Eponine said. She pushed together two sections of the book. "There are marks in the corners; they look as if they were drawn in. Maybe it's supposed to mean something like reading them together to complete a message."

"We're going to have to take another day to thoroughly decode this, and to visit the addresses," Bahorel muttered. "So this, and then invisible ink, and then what's next?"

"The actual blow," Enjolras muttered. "It is possible that other people have received similar warnings."

"But whoever sent the note to you  _knows_  that you can handle invisible ink," Bahorel pointed out. "Someone perhaps we've worked with before."

' _That is the troubling part,'_ Enjolras thought as he watched Eponine pick up another part of the book's binding and begin to cut the joints with a pair of shears. He also saw that she had some other tools scattered all over the floor. "How were you able to bring those here?"

"A basket. And my sleeves," Eponine replied, gesturing to the bulky sleeves of her light blue dress. "You can hide things here. I'll bring them back in the morning, don't worry about it. It's a good thing Paulette decided to give me this old dress of hers so I could manage it."

Bahorel chuckled. "Clever girl. You'd be able to manage even breaking out of prison."

"Maybe," Eponine muttered, using the shears to pull at a stubborn bit of glued paper. "Nothing here."

"Eponine, I heard about the meeting last night," Enjolras said nonchalantly, looking at her.

She put down the shears and sat up straight. "What about it?" she asked him.

"How many people went?"

"Oh about fifty, I think. Some girls I know, some friends of friends, fine ladies too."

"Then what happened?" he asked slowly.

She frowned. "It would have gone better if someone hadn't started off while we were on the way out after the meeting, and shouted that we were being 'unnatural for women'. You should have seen Musichetta's face when she heard that."

Bahorel snorted while Enjolras shook his head. "And you?" Enjolras asked.

"Well there was a grand lady who had a ring when she slapped me." She shrugged as she picked up the shears again. "At least it was just my lip that got cut."

' _What am I ever going to do with you, Eponine?'_ Enjolras wondered silently. Then again, it was not as if he ever expected her to back down before such an affront. "At least you're safe. Though of course, maybe a bit more prudence next time would be advisable."

"Enjolras, perhaps it would be easier if I  _could_  look at someone the way you do and make them go all quiet," she quipped.

Enjolras went pale at this, a fact which was only exacerbated by Bahorel failing to hide his guffaws. Before he could say anything to this, a knock sounded on the door. "Eponine, who is in there?" Azelma shouted from outside.

"It's unlocked, you can find out," Eponine shot back tersely moments before the door creaked open, revealing Azelma, Prouvaire, and a raven-haired young man dressed in a drab brown coat that was decorated with a blue cockade. The stranger's nose appeared broken from a previous fistfight; this was the only thing that detracted from his otherwise delicate, almost pallid appearance.

Enjolras got to his feet. "Good evening Azelma, Prouvaire. It's been a long time, Rossi." Although Rossi was a candidate from the  _Constitutionalists_  party, he had worked closely with the Amis del'ABC in the weeks prior to Lamarque's funeral.

Meanwhile Eponine handed to Bahorel the various parts of the book. "What are you doing here?" she asked Azelma.

"Visiting. Is there something wrong with that?" Azelma asked. She brought out a note from her pocket. "We saw Citizen Gillenormand, that Theodule. He left this for you."

"He's already back from Dijon?" Eponine asked, taking the note.

"Aren't you happy about it?" Azelma asked. "That bald man Tholomyes is here too, but he's downstairs talking to Courfeyrac," she said, directing this to Enjolras.

"Prouvaire, I need your help here; you know more of verses than I do," Bahorel said, holding up the pages. "It's a code I may have to break."

Azelma pouted at Prouvaire. "Must you now? You said we'd go to dinner."

"We will in a while. Anyway I think you can help here too," Prouvaire said as he pulled up a chair for Azelma before he sat on the floor next to Bahorel.

Enjolras nodded to the two other people in the room. "Eponine, may I introduce Citizen Eugene Rossi. Citizen Rossi, meet Citizenness Eponine Thenardier."

"A pleasure to meet you," Rossi said warmly as he bowed. "Ouvrard, that is the head of our party, mentioned that there was a young  _Radicaux_  lady who not only wrote part of a pamphlet but actually challenged Citizen Paquet."

"Rather, it was the other way around," Eponine clarified. "How does Citizen Ouvrard know of me?"

"The parties keep an eye on each other," Rossi said. He glanced upstairs and sighed. "I came to talk to Combeferre about an upcoming lecture, but since you're both here, I ought to mention it." He looked around and frowned. "Can we talk in the hall?"

"The next room," Enjolras said. After he let them in, he made sure to close the door. As he set down his satchel, he saw that Eponine was sitting on his bed and Rossi on a chair by the desk, leaving only one other seat for him. "So to what do we owe this visit?"

"Some very grave accusations, Citizen" Rossi replied. He brought out a newsletter and smoothed it out on his lap before handing it to Enjolras. "I already expected my party to be accused of being ultra, but we are  _not_  Orleanists."

Enjolras paled as he read the lurid prose supposedly written by a 'Citizen Duchesne', claiming that agents allied with the  _Constitutionalists_  had been seen painting the fleur-de-lis, and that they were in contact with towns on the Prussian and Spanish borders, and that one had secretly gone to England to convince Talleyrand to support Louis-Philippe. The article was two days old. "I can tell you that this isn't the view of the  _Radicaux_  party as a whole," he said as he handed the article to Eponine.

"But you can't stop individual writers from publishing," Rossi said glumly.

"What I want to know is why you chose to speak to me and Citizenness Thenardier, when it might be more appropriate to direct this to Citizen Dufour and Citizen Paquet?" Enjolras asked. "The heads of the parties would be able to answer too."

"Enjolras-let me drop the formality here since we are old friends-you know that Citizen Dufour's hands are tied, and the only one animating that party is Citizen Bamatabois. Now Citizen Bamatabois is a sensible man but far too excitable and yes, caught in a hard place," Rossi said. "As for Citizen Paquet, you  _know_  how he can be with an accusation."

Eponine smirked as she folded one page of the newsletter "He's like a thorn, you know? He'll bury himself in your finger first chance he gets."

"Eponine, I mean, Citizenness Thenardier, that  _is_  a rather harsh comparison," Enjolras said.

"I saw how he dislikes you, even if you're working with him," Eponine pointed out. She looked at Rossi. "But what do you need me for?"

"You're a pamphleteer. You and Enjolras can help counter this...this piece of work that is more fitting for Marat than a proper Republic," Rossi replied. He coughed and cleared his throat for a moment. "You should know this isn't the only attack the party has received."

"Letters?" Enjolras asked.

Rossi's eyes widened. "Yes. You...know?"

"He got a threatening missive last week," Eponine chimed in.

Rossi's jaw dropped. "Did it also say to remember the 21st day of January 1793?"

Enjolras shook his head, even as he recognized the date as that of the execution of Louis Capet. ' _If the letters are from the same writer, he or she has a bloody sense of history,'_ he thought. "It at least was the same in form," he said.

"The  _Democrates_  party then," Rossi muttered. "Only they would write letters to threaten both sides."

"Rossi, you cannot ascertain that," Enjolras said frankly. He could see that Eponine was biting her lip as she pondered the article she was still holding. "Later, we can pay a visit to Citizen Bamatabois-"he began before an outraged shriek sounded through the house.

"What on earth-"Rossi asked but Enjolras had thrown the door open, and had followed Eponine out of the room and down the stairs. In the front hall they found Courfeyrac staring at Tholomyes with an incredulous expression on his face. Paulette was in a chair, hiding her face in her hands as her shoulders shook with sobs.

Tholomyes looked at Enjolras and Eponine. "My apologies for the commotion," he said gravely.

"A very grave understatement," Enjolras deadpanned.

Eponine gave Tholomyes a vicious look as she went up to Paulette. "Never mind him, Paulette," she said to her friend. "He's just being silly."

Paulette shook her head. "She told Maurice to-"

"He suggested that I was better off leaving Paulette," Courfeyrac finished.

"I was only giving practical advice," Tholomyes argued. "Your youth is a gift that comes only once; why should you hasten its passing with these worries about fatherhood?"

Enjolras shook his head as he heard Paulette's sobs grow louder over Eponine's attempts to soothe her. After a moment Eponine was able to coax Paulette out of her seat. ' _Thank you,'_ he thought as he caught Eponine's eye for a moment as she led Paulette to the concierge's lodge.

Enjolras waited for the door to close before giving Tholomyes a long hard look. "Citizen Tholomyes, was that necessary?"

Tholomyes let out a breath raggedly. "I was only giving my unsolicited advice. It is easy, when intoxicated with your age, to believe that the natural course of life: bachelorhood, fatherhood, then dotage, are simple matters. That is not so. You ought to follow Rousseau regarding the proper course of a man's life; the babies are the concern of women. You are young men with a dream of a Republic; I will not deny or begrudge you that. But one cannot always be a republican and a father at the same time."

"Desmoulins was," Courfeyrac retorted. "Now let me give you my unsolicited reply. Yes it is true that I entered this situation in a rather unlooked for manner. Naturally I earned the displeasure of my parents; it was inevitable, I would have had to make the situation known to them sooner or later even if they did not come to Paris specifically to disown me. The circumstances do not change the fact that there is a child. In the first place, there is no use in making a child half an orphan when he or she has two parents living; that would be an untruth. In the second place, it would be an injustice to leave a child in ignominy when it is well within my capacity to make it otherwise. As a third addition, inasmuch as Rousseau is admirable in writing, his example of paternity is perhaps less worthy of note. As a final point, I have at least enough affection for Citizenness Vigny so as to make our ménage more than simply tolerable. Giving her my name is impossible since the particle does not suit her no more than it suits me, but we can live in some sort of accord."

Tholomyes gaped at Courfeyrac. "I was in your situation too. I am aware that there were, are consequences, I should like to spare you the trouble."

"It was fortunate then that your daughter was raised by a man who is deserving of the title of a father, even if he did not sire any children of his own," Courfeyrac answered.

The older attorney sighed deeply. "I hope then that you can follow his example, if you insist." He looked grimly at Enjolras. "I had intended to make this a friendly visit, but I hear you have company and I have disrupted a pleasant evening."

"We can meet tomorrow morning at the Palais de Justice," Enjolras said.

"That would be better. Good evening to you, Citizens," Tholomyes said before donning his hat and his scarf and walking out of the house.

Enjolras clapped Courfeyrac's shoulder. "A fine defence," he said, not hiding his pride and astonishment.

Courfeyrac nodded with relief. "The only right thing to do."

"How did you know about Citizen Tholomyes' child?" Enjolras asked in an undertone. "Pontmercy would never have mentioned it."

"Citizen Tholomyes told Citizen Gillenormand. It was a mercy that Marius, Cosette, and Citizen Valjean were all in the study. I understand that it has been the cause of a rift," Courfeyrac said. He looked around as a door opened. "Paulette-"he asked, looking to the concierge's lodge, where his mistress now stood.

Paulette nodded as she ambled over to him. Her eyes were still swollen but she was smiling. "Maurice, I heard every word. I may not be able to be a mother to a  _de_  Courfeyrac, but to your child, I could," she began before she had to muffle the rest of her words in his shoulder. Courfeyrac pulled her close and murmured something in her ear that had her nodding.

In the meantime Enjolras took the opportunity to return upstairs. Before he could get into his room, he noticed that Eponine had followed him. "I thought you were going to be angry with him," she remarked.

"Courfeyrac was more than up to the confrontation," Enjolras said. He nodded to Rossi, who was just emerging from the room. "My apologies for the interruption," he said.

Rossi shrugged awkwardly. "What were you saying before you both ran downstairs?"

"I was suggesting we visit Citizen Bamatabois," Enjolras said.

"Tell me if you need me to join you," Eponine chimed in. "I'd better make sure first that my siblings aren't up to any mischief," she added before going to her room.

Rossi checked his pocket watch as he followed Enjolras back to his quarters. "I heard that the  _Democrates_  party has a sortie at Richefu's, at eight."

"We have to be there," Enjolras concurred. From far off he could hear the tolling of church bells; it was the hour now for vespers. They would have to leave in a while if they were to make the meeting.

The other candidate ran a hand through his hair as he sat down again. "They will accuse us of sending notes to them, I am sure of it."

"We have to prepare for that possibility," Enjolras said.

Rossi nodded. "I cannot speak for my party; Ouvrard prefers it that way. In your case, would you leave it to Paquet?"

"It might be late to wait for a statement from Paquet. All I can say is that I for one am willing to help them find the source of these notes, if only to clear some names. We have to do this before the mid-campaign rally in two days," Enjolras said.

"Especially since those were  _death_  threats, at least the one I received may as well be one.

"All the more we must act quickly."

Rossi gritted his teeth. "Only you could face such a thing in the eye without backing down."

"Does anyone have any other option these days?" Enjolras rummaged through his desk for the missive he'd decoded a week ago, and he pocketed it. He then went out to knock on the Thenardiers' door. "Eponine, we'll be heading to a  _Democrates_  sortie, at Richefu's," he called.

Eponine opened the door and shook her head. "I have to help Jacques with some reading and Citizenness LeClair with dinner. You will have to do without me." She reached for his wrist and pulled him close. "Prouvaire found something in the sections; he might be able to figure it out tonight."

Enjolras looked past her and at Prouvaire, who was holding up several pages. "The last verses!" the poet mouthed eagerly.

Eponine gripped Enjolras' wrist more tightly. "Tomorrow. I will tell you tomorrow," she whispered. "You stay safe."

"I will." He looked down and saw her anxious expression. "You have already found something, haven't you?" he asked.

She nodded before hurrying back into the room to quickly write down something. "Do not go to these places," she said, handing the paper to him. "Not till we know more."

Enjolras recognized the locations as some of the addresses inked onto the leather book cover. "I see. Till tomorrow, Eponine."

"I'll see you, Enjolras," she replied before quickly closing the door.

Enjolras shrugged at Rossi's incredulous expression. "I think we have just had the second warning. Your turn to have a look," he said grimly as he held out the list.


	36. Under the Bells

**Chapter 36: Under the Bells**

"Is red really the  _Radicaux_  color, or are you already out of coats to wear?"

Eponine rolled her eyes at Azelma. "It's the warmest thing I've got," she said as she shook some dust off her red pelisse. She bit her lip as she looked to the soaring spires of Notre Dame on her right; there were already people congregating on the cathedral steps, hoping for a slightly better vantage point of the mid-campaign debate. A platform had been set up at the south side of the square, perpendicular to the cathedral entrance. ' _That is still a little too far away,'_ she thought as she stepped off the bench she and Azelma had been standing on.

Azelma cursed as the seat wobbled under her. "Eponine, why must we go near the front?" she whined. "You can hear them just fine from here!"

"I need to  _see,"_ Eponine said, motioning for her sister to follow her through the crowd. She blinked at the pallid winter sunlight; she guessed it had to be just past nine in the morning. Despite the hour and the hubbub filling the square she still felt rather drowsy. She rubbed her hands for warmth as she looked around for another familiar face. ' _Wish I'd left home at the same time Enjolras and Combeferre did,'_ she thought.

"Eponine!" she heard Claudine call. The older woman was standing a few paces ahead, dressed in her best green dress but with red ribbons on the neckline and cuffs. "Musichetta is somewhere up front already, let's go!"

Eponine looked back over her shoulder. "Where's Azelma? She was just behind me."

"I don't see her," Claudine said, her brow furrowing.

"Never mind, she can probably take care of herself where she's standing," Eponine said before following her friend. When she was a little way from the stage, suddenly something yanked at her from behind. Before she could yell or scream, a hand covered her mouth and she found herself looking right up at a familiar sallow face.

"Mademoiselle Thenardier, you shouldn't be here," Babet said in an undertone as he let go of her.

Eponine wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "What are you doing here, Citizen Babet?" she asked crossly.

"Passing through, then I saw this mob," Babet said. "Haven't you heard the word on the street though? If there will be trouble in that campaign, it will be today when all the swells are in one place."

"How do you know this?" Eponine demanded.

"You're a smart girl, haven't you seen it before? Like last year, at Lamarque's funeral?" Babet hissed.

"I have a hand to show for it."

"You have to leave; I don't want to have to tell the  _tapissier_  that you've been done for."

Eponine laughed. "He doesn't concern himself with me anymore, don't you know? He won't be the one looking for me if something happens here. You could give him a kiss for me once you've run for it."

Babet rubbed his fingers. . "He asks about you."

"What for?"

"Simply to know what you are about."

Eponine paused, trying to figure out what to say to this bit of news. "If he means to simply see I'm well, you can tell him I'm fine and so are his sons. But I'm still not doing his business."

"Hah, you, above Pantin now?"

"I have bread now."

"I see. Good day to you, Mademoiselle Thenardier," Babet said with a bow before hurrying off in the general direction of the west bank, dodging a cart loaded up with what appeared to be sacks of flour.

Eponine bit her lip as she looked about for Claudine, wondering if her friend had noticed she'd lagged behind. She then began walking again towards the stage, picking up the pace when she noticed a scarlet coat in the crowd. "Grantaire?" she asked aloud, trying to ascertain this person's identity.

Grantaire turned and grinned at her. "Another one who isn't content with just the red bonnet?"

She shrugged; she'd already seen Bahorel in a similarly bold waistcoat earlier that day. "Have you seen Claudine?" she asked.

Grantaire motioned to where Claudine, Musichetta, Combeferre, and Joly seemed to be in the middle of a heated argument. "I'd stay away from the walls of Troy," he advised as he tried to smooth out his hair.

"Why, what has happened?"

"Aphrodite crossing the Muses, or perhaps Athena."

Eponine shrugged at this allusion before looking to where Musichetta was now storming away from a rather shocked looking Joly. Claudine shook her head at Combeferre before hurrying after Musichetta. Seeing her chance, Eponine ran towards her friends. "Wait!"

Musichetta wheeled around sharply, nearly losing her loosely tied bonnet in the process. "Thought you'd be up front, Eponine," she said with a sigh as she steadied her hat.

"Not yet," Eponine whispered. "Did some trouble get stirred up already?"

The two older women exchanged looks. "You may as well know," Musichetta said, looking down. "Patrice asked me to marry him."

Eponine gasped. "He did? But..." she trailed off, seeing Musichetta shake out a handkerchief. "You didn't say yes?" she asked more softly.

"I'm not sure if I could," Musichetta said.

"You mean you're not sure if you want to," Claudine pointed out.

Musichetta rolled her eyes. "I love him, you know that. I've known him since I left Picpus. Being Madame Joly doesn't suit me though!" she said with an expression of horror. She cast a scornful glance at Joly's general direction. "He could at  _least_  look like he's not pining; it's embarrassing to do that!"

Eponine winced, even as she noticed that Claudine's expression grew pensive. "Claudine?"

"Now don't mind me, you two," Claudine scolded lightly. "We ought to take proper notes as to what these gentlemen all have to say and figure out what to do about it."

"Claudine, you ought to run for the legislature next elections," Musichetta teased.

"I  _would_  but could I?" Claudine replied sardonically, craning her neck to get a better look at where some of the candidates were gathering to one side of the stage. "If they'd stick their heads out a little more instead of huddling all the time, they'd be more sensible about legislating!"

Musichetta sighed. "That is why we must pick the man with the most between his ears, and lucky for us the candidates from our quartier show some promise."

"One representative out of five in Paris does  _not_  equate having a law," Claudine seethed. She gritted her teeth and crossed her arms. "I'm sorry. I've had far too much to worry about lately," she apologized.

"We're all tired, Claudine," Musichetta said understandingly. "A few more weeks, then things will be quiet again, you'll see."

"One can hope," Claudine said before waving to someone else in the crowd. "Where on earth are those candidates? Eponine didn't you and Enjolras leave the house together? You'd better go find him and the others."

Eponine shook her head. ' _He at least left two loaves at the table for breakfast,'_ she thought as she stood on tiptoe to try to find her friend. She bit her lip when at last she caught sight of a tall golden-haired figure near the stage, talking with Blanchard and some other men. ' _At least he's impossible to miss,'_ she thought as she excused herself and headed down to the front of the crowd.

Blanchard noticed her first, judging by his grin. "Now there is a rose in winter!" he said cheerily.

"A thistle maybe, Citizen," Eponine replied a little uneasily. Nevertheless she couldn't help but smile when she saw Enjolras; she was sure that he had chosen to wear red specifically for this occasion. "I wanted to wish you luck," she said to him.

"Thank you, Eponine," Enjolras said. An amused smile crossed his lips as he looked at her. "Where will you stay during the debate?" he asked.

"I s'pose to the left," she replied, pointing to one side of the dais. "I could see very well from there, and I'm sure you could find me right away too."

Enjolras nodded approvingly. "You won't miss anything from that place."

Blanchard looked about, as if checking if they would be overheard. "You'd better be careful with that shifty Citizen Rossi over there. I know he's looking for those mischief makers, but he ought to look closer to home first."

Eponine glanced to where Rossi was talking to some other gentlemen clad in blue. "He's been helpful. He wouldn't have come to us if he didn't make some sort of sense."

Blanchard sighed. "You are too trusting, young lady."

"At this point we cannot accuse nor exonerate anyone," Enjolras pointed out.

"Not from ours," Blanchard muttered. "We know who are in our ranks."

"Which are not immune to discord," Enjolras said. He glanced towards where someone was calling for all the participants in the debate to gather near the stage. "I'll see you later," he told Eponine.

She quickly clasped his hand. "You'll do well, Enjolras. They'll all be listening to you," she said before walking off to the side. She cast a look over her shoulder in time to see him and Blanchard meeting the other candidates. After a few moments she located a rickety bench and climbed on top of it.

' _Everyone will be off with someone, I think,'_ she thought as she glanced towards where the debate was being called to order. She craned her neck to get a look at the square, which was crammed with spectators wearing various ribbons and decorations in red, white, and blue, or bearing party insignias and posters. Some people had even climbed to the second floors of houses, or onto awnings and roofs. Further off, there were some policemen stationed at the corners and entrances to the square. She saw that Azelma had somehow found Prouvaire and Grantaire, while Musichetta had deigned to rejoin Joly, Bossuet, and Combeferre. She blinked at the sight of a familiar flash of reddish hair. ' _That must be Coutard,'_ she realized, noticing at last that this man was standing with Feuilly and Bahorel. She heard a muffled giggle from nearby; Paulette had apparently been listening to some commentary from Claudine and Courfeyrac. After a few moments Courfeyrac caught Eponine's gaze and raised his hat by way of greeting before gesturing to the stage, where the candidates were being introduced. She had to muffle a giggle when she realized that he was pointing out young Bamatabois, who'd almost sweat through his own cravat.

Eponine rubbed her hands again as she watched the first candidates take their places towards the front of the platform while the rest sat to one side. ' _All about prices again,'_ she thought, shaking her fingers with that restlessness that usually accompanied her ennui. She frowned when she saw that the speaker from the  _Radicaux_  party was Blanchard, and that the representatives from the other parties were two other men she only knew by name. ' _If he says the same thing he said at the Pantheon, I shan't pay him a bit of attention,'_ she thought as she stuck her hands in her coat pockets. Yet it appeared that the debate would soon turn heated after all; the representative from the  _Democrates_  party was a furious man from Montmartre, with statements as sweeping as the rather outlandish flare of his green morning coat. A few times it seemed as if these candidates would be booed off the stage, if not for several of the parties' senior members calling for order.

After a few minutes it was time for the second round of debates, namely on the topic of capital punishment. ' _Enjolras' turn to speak,'_ Eponine realized, seeing him get to his feet. She heard some gasps, murmurs and applause in the crowd as she watched this impassive young man take his place with two other candidates. She felt something catch in her throat as she looked in his direction; for a passing moment he had also found her in the throng, and nodded to her by way of acknowledgment. She had to pinch her wrist in order to bring her attention back to what he had to say, even if she had already discussed the matter with him the night before.

Halfway through Enjolras' speech, Eponine noticed someone running away from the side of the stage. She slipped off her perch and went to catch this wayward figure as he wove his way through the crowd. "Gavroche, what are you doing here?" she hissed, grabbing her brother by his shoulders.

"Taking in the air," Gavroche replied impetuously. "You cannot apprehend me for that."

"Not apprehending; I haven't a  _bagne_  to send you to," Eponine retorted. She gritted her teeth when she saw Navet also grinning beside her brother. "You both shouldn't be here!"

"The Rue Jean Jacques Rousseau is a poor theater," Gavroche said "I'd rather take the balcony seat again, at the Rue de Chanvrerie."

"Well this isn't a barricade, this is political," Eponine scolded crossly. Gavroche merely stuck out his tongue at her before adding in his own voice to the cheering, raising his fist gleefully.

Navet whistled over the applause at the end of Enjolras' speech. "He's got them!" he shouted eagerly.

Eponine nodded even as she noticed the  _Democrates_  candidate taking the center of the stage. ' _Dufour, from that meeting at Picpus,'_ she thought. It was at that moment that a single sharp report came from the rear of the crowd, drawing a scream from a child standing nearby.

"What-" an astounded Dufour asked before his voice was drowned out by a warning shout, moments before two deafening roars pierced the morning, filling the air with smoke, sulphur and splinters.

A sharp pain blossomed in Eponine's left hand; somehow she'd thrown her arms out in an effort to break her fall. She raised herself to her knees and shook Gavroche's shoulder. She screamed at him to run, but somehow she could not hear her own voice. Nevertheless Gavroche nodded and yanked Navet to his feet. Eponine ducked at the sounds of shots being fired, people yelling for help or calling for their loved ones. Some people were now pounding on the cathedral doors, begging to be let in. Many more were stampeding towards the bridges in an effort to escape the still ongoing crossfire.

As she got up, something caught her across her shoulders and her upper back, sending her sprawling into the mud. Despite the vicious pain, she managed to reach for a broken piece of wood, which she swung in time to stop a cane before it could deal her another blow. Her eyes widened as she found herself looking up at a burly man whose face was obscured by a mask and a hat. The attacker pushed her down, nearly pinning her to the ground with the cane across the makeshift club she was holding. Eponine wriggled enough to draw her knee up so she could kick this man right in his instep, eliciting a muffled howl of pain. He loosened his grip for a few moments, which was enough time for her to push him off and struggle to her feet. As she ran towards the platform, she heard a terrible creaking followed by a shout of relief; someone had drawn the bolts of the church doors, and now dozens of bystanders were seeking sanctuary in the cathedral.

Meanwhile, the area near the platform was now blocked not just with smoke but with people trying to help or head towards the cathedral. Eponine bit back a shriek as she saw men carrying away a small child covered in blood. She ran back towards where she'd been standing a few minutes before, hoping against all hope for the sight of any of her friends unscathed or at least on their feet.

"Eponine! I need your help here!" Combeferre shouted from behind a pile of wreckage. The young physician was trying to extricate an unconscious Dufour from under a beam that had been part of the stage. Splinters littered this man's shirt and one was even stuck in his arm. "Steady his head," Combeferre instructed before he went to shift the beam.

Eponine felt her gut twist at the sight of Dufour's shallow breathing. "He's done for, isn't he?"

"He took a blow to the head," Combeferre said. "Have you seen Enjolras?"

She shook her head. "He should be here..."

Combeferre swore under his breath. "Get Dufour into the cathedral. Keep your head down."

"But-"

"Go  _now,_  Eponine!"

Before Eponine could protest, Combeferre had rushed off to tend to another wounded man near the side of the now collapsed stage. She looked down at Dufour, whose face was now turning pale. "I'm sorry," she whispered as she tried to pull him along by his coat, only to end up dragging him a few paces. She could feel a burning starting up in her shoulders, making her pause momentarily to catch her breath. When she looked down, she found that the left cuff of her pelisse was now stained a dark crimson. She bit her lip, if only to hold back a whimper of pain until they were almost at the steps of Notre Dame.

"Citizenness Thenardier?" a hoarse voice called. She turned and saw Bamatabois limping on the cathedral steps. The young man bit back a cry on seeing Dufour. "God no..."

"I'm sorry-"Eponine whispered.

Bamatabois shook his head furiously. "I'll stay with him. You go look for the others," he said before yelling for someone to help carry Dufour into the cathedral.

' _Please, please let me find them here,'_ Eponine begged silently as she went into the church. The shiny floors were now slick with melt water, dirt, and blood as the wounded and other onlookers huddled on or between the pews, or on pieces of wood and garments serving as makeshift stretchers. She could see Joly, Musichetta, and Claudine among those tending to the injured. In a corner, Paulette was curled up on the floor, practically inconsolable despite Courfeyrac's attempts to comfort her. Before she could go to them, she felt someone yank her elbow.

"Did you see them?" Leonor asked. Her eyes were wild and her right cheek was caked with dried blood.

"Who?" Eponine asked.

"Those murderers. They went running, I thought you might have noticed," Leonor whispered. She looked towards where Coutard and Bahorel were sitting by a form that had been covered with a coat. "He had no chance," she added, casting a glance towards where a priest was administering the last rites to another unfortunate stretched out near the altar.

"Leonor, not now," Feuilly said, walking up to her and placing an arm around her waist. The fan maker was also covered in splinters and a clumsy bandage supported his other arm. "I saw your brother running. Navet was with him," he informed Eponine.

"To where?"

"Pont au Change."

Eponine nodded with relief. "Azelma?"

"I saw her with Prouvaire; Bossuet and I helped them and some others get to the Marche Neuf before we got into a scuffle there," Feuilly said, glancing to where Bossuet was sitting up against a pillar with his leg in a splint. He paled as he saw Joly to tend to Dufour. "He's the only one among the candidates who was brought here."

"Combeferre is still outside helping the others," Eponine replied. "Grantaire isn't here too?"

"He ran to help someone who was trapped near the platform," Bahorel chimed in. Bahorel's eyes were red-rimmed and his hair was completely dishevelled, except where it had been flattened by a length of linen serving as a bandage over his forehead. "Enjolras might be there too," he added.

"I should find-"Eponine began before she felt another pain shoot through her shoulders and back. She gritted her teeth and looked up in time to see Claudine already hurrying over, carrying a bowl of water and some bundles of cloth.

"I'll take it from here," Claudine said to the young men and Leonor before ushering Eponine to a corner. She clucked her tongue as she surveyed the dark patches all over Eponine's coat. "No wonder no one noticed right away. What happened?"

"Mostly a cane," Eponine said. She tried not to wince as she gingerly removed her stained pelisse before lying on the cold floor. It was all she could do not to look at the dirtied garment, knowing that the sight of blood would make her feel even worse. ' _I'm sure my dress is ruined too,'_ she realized as she let Claudine undo the back of her dress. She gasped at the sting of water against her wounds, and had to bite her sleeve to keep from crying out.

"There, there it will be done soon," Claudine whispered soothingly as she dabbed a rag over Eponine's left shoulder. "At least there are no splinters; Joly and Musichetta drew something like a spike out of someone's belly."

"What was it? That thing that blew up?" Eponine murmured, flinching again with pain.

"A cannon held in one hand," Grantaire said from where he was sitting some distance off. His shirtsleeves were red up to the elbow with blood, but otherwise he seemed unscathed.

Claudine paled as she continued sponging down Eponine's back. "A grenade?"

"That's what they are saying," Grantaire said. He leaned back against a pillar. "I'm thirsty."

"Haven't you got something to drink?" Eponine asked.

"I may as well drink from the font," Grantaire replied as the church door opened. Navet ran in, followed by some men entering in by pairs or threes, many of them covered with blood or with improvised bandages. The last to enter were Combeferre and Enjolras; the latter leaning heavily on the former.

Eponine would have sat up if not for Claudine's hand between her shoulder blades. "You can go to him when I've bandaged you up," Claudine said firmly as she brought out a roughly folded strip of linen. "It will be over in a little while."

It was all that Eponine could do to keep still as she waited for Claudine to finish her work. She tilted her head a little in an attempt to watch Combeferre tending to Enjolras near one of the pews. His coat was also stained with dark patches, but it did not seem as if he had taken any particularly serious injury to his chest or midsection. However he was seen to bite his lip when he stretched out his leg, and again when Combeferre helped him remove his coat.

At length she felt Claudine do up the dress again except for the topmost portion. "Here, take this shawl; it's too cold for you to go as you are," Claudine advised as she helped Eponine sit up.

"Thank you," Eponine murmured before ambling over to where Enjolras and Combeferre were seated. It was slow going; every movement sent a dull pain through her but in time she'd crossed to the pews. She held on to a pew before calling Enjolras' name.

Enjolras looked up quickly at her, but the relief in his eyes soon shifted into shock and fear. "You're hurt," he said as he tried to inch to the side to let her sit down.

"Not where you can see it," she said, sitting down more carefully. She tried not to flinch at the sight of Enjolras' swollen left ankle as well as his right wrist, which Combeferre was binding up. "Someone set a cane on me when I was bringing Citizen Dufour here. I couldn't see who it was."

Combeferre's face was stricken. "I'm sorry, Eponine."

"No, you don't have to be."

Enjolras raised an eyebrow. "What happened?"

Combeferre looked at Enjolras remorsefully. "I was the one who asked her to take care of Dufour after he was found."

Enjolras nodded understandingly after a few moments. "No one had any way of knowing what would happen. It was not your fault."

"But what happened to you? You were up there..." Eponine asked. She shivered now at the memory of the blasts; they had been much too close to where she'd been standing earlier. ' _If I hadn't seen Gavroche...'_ she thought before willing herself to look at Enjolras, more so when she felt his hand come to rest on her arm.

"He's lucky to be alive; he managed to get Blanchard off the platform before falling down himself," Combeferre muttered. "If he didn't walk on his ankle it would be in some better shape."

"I had to; I saw who did it," Enjolras said.

' _Which was probably how he got his wrist hurt,'_ Eponine realized. "What about everyone else?"

"Some there; you can see Blanchard and some of the others," Enjolras said, gesturing to where his colleague was trying to talk to another  _Radicaux_  party member. "Citizen Paquet was taken to one of the houses; another doctor is tending to him. Jeanne is with him. Rossi accompanied some of his colleagues to a hospital."

Combeferre shook his head. "An unnecessary delay..." he muttered. "Enjolras hold _still_  or the bandages will slip. You've complicated things enough as it is!"

"Do you need me to hold him down?" Eponine asked. Her eyes widened when she saw Gavroche running up to them. "I told you to leave!" she exclaimed angrily at him.

"I did, with Navet. To the churchyard," Gavroche said.

Enjolras shook his head. "It's too close to danger still, Gavroche."

"Well I have a good fort, it outlasted that Bastille!" Gavroche said, gesturing to the church. The boy clapped his hands over his ears as a howl tore through the church. "Looks like someone will need a bed in that sort of garden."

Eponine bit her lip as she looked to where Bamatabois was now clutching Dufour's motionless form. ' _What if we would have needed those too?'_ she wondered, letting her brother sit beside her as they waited for Combeferre to finish his work.


	37. Fomenting Under One Roof

**Chapter 37: Fomenting Under One Roof**

' _If the church doors had remained closed, the entire square would have turned into a sort of charnel-house,'_ Enjolras couldn't help thinking as he and Eponine were in a fiacre headed back to their lodgings. It was already past noon, and most of their friends had gone home as well, except for Combeferre and Joly, who went to assist some of their colleagues at nearby hospitals. Gavroche had begged to be allowed to stay with Navet and Bahorel for the rest of the day in order to 'find out something useful'.

Enjolras gritted his teeth as the fiacre lurched, sending a most unwelcome jolt into his left leg, which he'd tried to keep stretched out to relieve his sprained ankle. He heard a whimper from next to him, and he looked to see Eponine twisting about in the seat, clearly unable to get comfortable. "You could lie down on the other seat," he suggested.

She shook her head at the same time she held on to his arm to keep from falling over. "I'd get colder there." She nestled closer to him, as if she was seeking some warmth. "You saw it all. You probably even saw me running after Gavroche," she said after a while.

"I didn't. Nevertheless it was a good thing you went," he remarked, remembering those chilling seconds after that first shot at the back of the square. He had looked to the crowd, already expecting some uproar, but only just in time to see two cylinders with lit fuses suddenly land on the platform. It all happened so fast: hearing Rossi's shout, then managing to push Blanchard off the platform, before finally leaping off just a split second before the first grenade exploded. Just remembering it was enough to elicit pain again in his injured ankle. ' _The blast was near the left of the stage. Everyone was running. She wasn't there,'_ he thought, feeling suddenly as if something cold had settled all around him. He took a deep breath, thankful once again that when he'd looked he had not seen a red form crumpled on the ground or being dragged off. However he'd spotted a man pushing his way through the crowd, nearly bowling over an elderly gentleman and a child. ' _I must have followed him halfway to the Place Dauphine before running into his accomplices,'_ he realized.

Eponine bit her lip as she kicked aside two garments that had been strewn onto the floor. "We're never wearing these again," she said ruefully, ending this with a short laugh. "I never told you that you look good in red, better than most of us do. Well, good in red on most days, I am not so sure about now."

He swallowed hard as he looked at her, remembering the moment when he  _finally_ saw her lying on the church floor, looking as if she was on the verge of screaming. The next few weeks would be hard enough, owing to those injuries alone. "I'd rather not see you in danger again, Eponine. After this..." he trailed off, noticing the quizzical look she was giving him. He clasped her hand lightly. "If you no longer wish to help in the campaign, I will not hold it against you."

She sat up straight, wincing only for a moment. "I promised that I'd help you and you said I could do it for five weeks. We've finished only three so far."

He shook his head as he steadied her with a hand on her right shoulder. "You need to recover."

"You too! See, your right hand still hurts. You write with that hand, I know it. Now what will you do till it heals up?" She looked him in the face, her eyes wide but with a look of resolve that he'd become very familiar with. "Now you will need someone who can write and also someone to go about to places, because of that foot of yours. You know you can ask me."

"I know what you can do, and I've seen you do it well. However this campaign is becoming more unsafe and you shouldn't take any unnecessary risks."

"And what about you, Antoine?" She colored slightly, as if surprised at her own use of his given name. "No, never mind that. I still want to help; you said  _if_  after all, and that means you think only it is a 'perhaps' and not something that is sure to happen. I will tell you that it won't be that way. Do you think that a few notes and this little shaking today could scare a girl like me?"

Enjolras gritted his teeth, knowing that they had already reached an impasse. ' _It's far too late now for either of us,'_ he realized after a while. Now, he could only hope that they and their friends would all still be alive and well after the elections. Neither of them said anything more till they arrived at the Rue Jean Jacques Rousseau.

As the fiacre rolled to a stop, Eponine shook her head she gingerly made her way to the door. "Combeferre will yell at both of us if I let you fall," she said as she reached for his left arm to help him.

"He would yell at both of us if we even _thought_  of walking about," Enjolras pointed out with a smirk, picking up their torn and stained coats. He felt a little heartened on seeing her laugh more mirthfully at this, even as she scooted over to his left side in order to help him into the house. They did not even have to knock before the tenement door opened to reveal Cosette.

"What are you doing here?" Eponine asked her with surprise.

"We came as soon as we heard the news of the attack," Cosette said, looking to where Marius was hurrying to join them.

Marius paled visibly at the sight of his friends. "God in heaven...what happened to the two of you?" he said as he went to help Enjolras to a seat. "We were worried that you'd gotten shot."

"To be more exact, hand to hand combat gone awry," Enjolras explained. He shook his head when he saw Cosette try to hug Eponine, only to have the other girl nearly yell with pain. "So far there have been fifteen confirmed dead: two immediately in the blast and the rest either because of bullets or while trying to get to safety," he informed Marius.

The younger man was aghast. "To think that Cosette wanted to attend!" he whispered. He looked to where Cosette was now helping Eponine up the stairs. "I'd never forgive myself if anything happened to her," he murmured.

At that moment Citizenness LeClair emerged from her room, with the two younger Thenardier boys trailing behind; Jacques was clinging to her skirt while Neville was leaning on a crutch. "Finally, you're back. I almost thought I'd hear horrible news of the three of you!" she scolded Enjolras. "You and Combeferre that is one thing, but you should be ashamed for bringing Eponine with you!"

"Citizenness, there is just  _no_  dissuading her when she has her mind made up," Enjolras pointed out.

The concierge rolled her eyes and picked up the stained coats that the unfortunate duo had somehow managed to bring in. "No laundrywoman is going to be able to save these. You ought to be more careful," she fussed as she brought the clothes into the kitchen. "All this campaigning, only to get half-killed in the process!"

Enjolras looked to see Jacques and Neville laughing at this. "Careful there you two. I can't pick you up," he warned the two children before they could climb up onto his lap.

Neville frowned as he looked at Enjolras' bandaged ankle. "Will Combeferre let you keep your foot?"

"He will. I hurt it in a different way," Enjolras said, unnerved at the boy's uncanny question.

"Where are Combeferre and Gavroche?" Neville pressed on.

"They're busy; Combeferre is at work, Gavroche is with his friend Navet. You'll see them later."

Neville nodded solemnly before hobbling back to the concierge's lodge. Meanwhile little Jacques managed to climb on Enjolras' lap. "Will we get hurt too?" he asked worriedly.

"No, not you and Neville. You'll both be safe," Enjolras replied, awkwardly ruffling Jacques' hair.

Jacques looked down. "But what about you and Ponine?"

Enjolras sighed, knowing now that Jacques had probably gathered that his sister was also injured. "We have to sometimes deal with people who are angry," he said. "They won't come after you. I promise that." Perhaps the fact that Neville and Jacques were to be kept safe at all costs was the one thing that he and Eponine easily agreed on.

Jacques nodded slowly before looking at Marius. "You have to help him."

"That's why I'm here," Marius said bemusedly as he lifted Jacques and set him down on the floor. "Enjolras you'd better take it slow..."

Enjolras in the meantime had managed to get to his feet. "It's only one flight. I'll manage it," he said.

"Don't even  _think_  about it, Enjolras," Courfeyrac called from the doorway. With him were Paulette, Bossuet, and Rossi. "Combeferre gave explicit instructions that you are not to walk about without some sort of support."

"Joly has an extra cane, aside from the one I have here," Bossuet offered.

"You need it more than I do, so thank you all the same," Enjolras said.

Courfeyrac snorted but he went to help Enjolras up the stairs. The rest of the group followed, with Paulette excusing herself to join Eponine and Cosette at the Thenardiers' apartment while the men went to Enjolras' room.

"You're a wonderful chap, Pontmercy. You do not revel with us, but you always emerge to help in times of trouble," Courfeyrac said to Marius once they were all settled as best as they could. Bossuet had to prop up his injured leg with a textbook, while the rest of the group leaned against the walls or some piece of furniture.

Marius turned red. "I wanted to see how I could help. But what are you all doing here?"

"Citizen Bahorel's idea," Rossi said confusedly. He had a long gash now running from his right ear to his jaw. "What's this, some sort of council?"

"More of a preliminary inquiry about the incident," Enjolras explained. "Though we may as well start discussing what measures might have to be taken for the remainder of the campaign."

"Especially with Citizen Dufour dead and most of us incapacitated," Rossi said. "Most of the wounded being from the  _Democrates_  party. Poor Bamatabois will have a hard time of it."

"Speaking of the devil, aren't you?" an indignant voice came from the hall. All of the men turned to see Jerome Bamatabois there, dressed entirely in black. His face was pale and his eyes were red.

"Not at all. But our condolences though," Enjolras said, motioning for him to take a seat.

"It won't bring back the dead or undo this," Bamatabois muttered.

Enjolras nodded, noticing that his colleague reeked of brandy. "Where have you been prior to this?"

"The morgue and some cafe, but that is none of your business," Bamatabois snapped. "Isn't Citizen Bahorel here already? I'd like to get started."

"He should be here before three at the latest," Enjolras said. He had yet to hear any church bells tolling two o'clock. ' _Hopefully this inquiry will not take very long,'_ he thought, hearing several rapid bursts of Occitan from the general direction of the stairwell. In a few moments Feuilly and Leonor made their appearance, followed some minutes after by Prouvaire and Azelma.

"Courfeyrac, you owe me five more francs," Prouvaire said after the usual pleasantries.

"Give it another week, you will be giving Feuilly fifty francs," Courfeyrac retorted, but he cheerfully handed over the required amount.

Paulette rolled her eyes. "How many more weeks will you keep betting, Maurice?"

"A month more. It is for a trifling sum."

Enjolras looked at his friends questioningly. "Another wager?" he asked. He'd witnessed these sorts of scenarios several times over the years, including one particularly memorable incident that resulted in his having to give a coat to Bossuet, who'd gambled away the clothes on his back.

"You'll like this one. Grantaire has not been in his absinthe," Azelma reported smugly.

"Ever since the campaign started. He's been doing admirably well," Feuilly said with a shrug.

Leonor swatted his shoulder. "Of all things to make a wager on!"

"Ah but the duration is not as important as the  _reason_ ," Bossuet pointed out. "Unfortunately it's probably nothing to do with politics, or any notions of emulating virtue."

"Some woman," Rossi muttered, not hiding his smile of amusement.

Bamatabois looked at all of them incredulously. "How can you talk of a skirt at a time like this?"

"My friend, you must remember that a lady is the very thing that keeps  _all_  men marching in such a crisis," Courfeyrac said with a grin. "And can end it, unfortunately."

"Such as in the case of Charlotte Corday versus Marat," Bamatabois said. "If we're talking about diversions, perhaps you could kindly direct me to something strong to wet my throat with?"

"Unfortunately this is an austere house," Enjolras replied sternly. "The business we have on hand requires sobriety. Yes, we may wish for some sort of nepenthe, but we do dishonour to the memory and struggles of our fellow citizens when we tip into excess."

Courfeyrac whistled to someone in the doorway. "Capital R!"

Grantaire trudged in before leaning against the doorjamb. "Far too small for this to be Aulis."

"No allusions now," Enjolras warned. Yet now that he got a better look at the newcomer he had to concede that  _perhaps_  Grantaire was truly sober; there was less of the slovenly manner he'd come to expect over the years.

Marius uneasily looked around at the now rather cramped apartment. "Perhaps Cosette and I should take our leave if you will be beginning soon."

"You may as well stay, Pontmercy. This may concern you both as well," Bahorel said from where he'd just arrived in the hall. With him now were Combeferre, Claudine, Joly, Musichetta, as well as Gavroche and Navet. He peered into the room as if to ascertain who was there before going to knock on the Thenardiers' apartment. In a few minutes most of the group was crammed in Enjolras' apartment as well as in the hallway, sharing some bread that the newcomers had brought.

Bahorel had to stand in the doorway to make sure he was heard by everyone. "Since introductions are mostly superfluous, it is time to create a bird's eye view of the situation," he said. "I have been tasked with collecting some written statements from those of us who are willing  _and_  able to testify as to what we heard and saw out at Notre Dame."

"How do we know we can trust the Department of Surveillance?" Bamatabois asked suspiciously.

"Do you have any other option?" Rossi asked impatiently. "Or would you like to take on the investigation yourself too?"

"Whatever it will take to avenge Dufour and the others who've died."

"Bamatabois, you aren't the  _only_  one who has lost someone," Leonor cut in.

"I saw a good man die," Bamatabois said coldly. "I imagine you'd have at least some sympathy for that."

"Now is not the time for this," Enjolras warned them. "Bahorel, how soon should we make our statements?" he asked.

"As soon as possible; if some of us are ready, I can start taking them down, one by one," Bahorel replied.

"Do we have to tell everything?" Eponine asked after a few moments.

"Of course. Why?" Bahorel asked.

Eponine bit her lip. "I s'pose it is important that I saw Babet and he told me that I ought to leave."

Azelma's eyes widened while some of the young men shook their heads, or even in Courfeyrac's case, groaned outright. ' _Now that might change everything,'_ Enjolras thought but he made sure not to meet Eponine's eyes at that moment, knowing that he was better off asking her about this later.

"Was he alone?" Bahorel asked Eponine.

"I didn't see any of the others," Eponine said.

"Why didn't you mention  _that_  earlier?" Leonor asked her. "If there are known criminals involved-"

"Citizenness Torres, I don't think we need to make any more enemies here," Cosette cut in, giving her an unusually furious look. "Marius and I weren't at the assembly. Is there any way we can possibly be of assistance?" she asked Bahorel.

"We may need some legal advice," Bahorel said. "From an attorney who has had some distance from these present proceedings."

Marius swallowed hard. "I may also ask some other colleagues to assist."

Rossi crossed his arms. "I think intervention might be necessary from other quarters. I heard talk that you have a relative who is a lieutenant with the regiment at the Rue de Babylone?"

"We will have to formally contact the commanding officer of that detachment; unless that is already Citizen Gillenormand?" Bahorel said.

Marius sighed. "I will ask my aunt, who probably has already asked him."

"My sister could—" Azelma began before Eponine elbowed her. "Why not? He wrote to you!"

"It's not that simple, Azelma," Eponine hissed, scowling when her sister elbowed her back.

Bamatabois looked at Bahorel. "Did they figure out which party was responsible?"

Bahorel raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?

"Are you suggesting..." Rossi muttered threateningly.

"Nothing of that sort, Rossi. The more likely idea is that none of the three parties are responsible," Bahorel replied.

Marius looked at him quizzically. "Why would you say that?"

"That is because it is in no one's particular interests to disrupt the elections with deaths of specific people  _unless_  it is to disable the entire process as a whole. That would undermine everything we've done so far," Enjolras noted.

Rossi groaned. "Orleanists! Real ones mind you."

"At this point everyone is under suspicion but everyone is still guiltless," Courfeyrac reminded him.

Bamatabois shook his head. "I must leave soon to meet Dufour's family."

"Since you seem to be in a hurry, Bamatabois, we can take your statement first," Bahorel suggested.

Claudine sighed as she moved out of the way to let Bamatabois go to the doorway. "The sooner we finish this, the sooner we can return to the campaign," she remarked as she knotted a torn bonnet string.

Combeferre stared at her. "Claudine, is that all you can think of? The perpetrators of this crime are still at large and they will strike again, mark my words."

"Making us fall silent is what they want. They want us to flee like the children they think we are!"

"Yes but that does not mean we have to take unnecessary risks."

"So you've been telling me for the past few weeks, Francois. I wouldn't mind so much, if you didn't consider  _every single risk_  to me as unnecessary," Claudine said, putting her hands akimbo. "Ever since this campaign started, you've always said that I do not need to be there, that I'm safer simply writing. Am I supposed to be thankful that you at least grant me that?"

"You already do enough with publishing. That is already noble work in itself," Combeferre retorted.

"What then? Am I getting too far from my place, becoming like one of those women who ought to be guillotined?" Claudine seethed, getting to her feet.

"Not at all!"

"Well, you think I'm becoming 'unnatural', like they are saying in the streets?"

"Claudine, it is not that way."

"Well then tell me why you are suddenly acting like you do not care about what I feel, about what I can and should be doing?" Claudine demanded. "I'm not made of glass, Francois, and I don't see why you feel the need discourage me when Eponine is  _ten years my junior_  and she receives no discouragement at all from Enjolras!"

Enjolras nearly started on hearing his name. "Is this what you two have been fighting about for these past weeks?" he asked tersely.

"Something like it," Claudine muttered. "Especially since all he cares about is what he thinks-"

"I do this only because I care for you, Claudine!" Combeferre said, gripping the wall. "What I do not want is your becoming a target."

Courfeyrac coughed. "Maybe you two can discuss this later?"

"Keep out of this Courfeyrac!" Combeferre snapped.

Eponine rolled her eyes. "Well I don't think it's any of your business either what I do, whether Enjolras encourages it or not."

Combeferre looked at her for a moment. "It is when someone gets hurt."

"The trouble is that you think you know trouble and can prevent every single instance of it!" Claudine said indignantly.

"For an hour today I was almost certain that I would see one of you in the morgue!" Combeferre said furiously as he stood up. "Just because I know what may happen that does not make me immune from worry. Even if I am a physician there is only so much I can do especially with such stubborn friends-"

"Combeferre-" Enjolras said, managing to get to his feet.

"Will you please sit down!" Combeferre roared. "This has to be around the seventh time in six hours I've told you to keep still! You and Eponine would have walked home if I hadn't personally seen you both off, and the least the two of you could do is at least cooperate with your own recovery-and no Grantaire I'm not bundling them into the same bed just to make sure they keep still, that is out of the question!" He took a few deep breaths as he looked directly at Enjolras and then at Eponine. "If you cannot respect me as a physician, then at least please heed me as a friend."

Enjolras nodded, seeing now the exhausted, almost wretched countenance of his friend. ' _As if he's been bearing it too long,'_ he realized as he watched Combeferre sit down and hold his head in his hands.

Claudine went up to Combeferre and put her hands on his shoulders. "Francois?" she whispered.

He looked up at her with a somber expression. "I'm sorry if you misinterpreted what I intended to be an act of caring," Combeferre admitted. He got to his feet and looked remorsefully at the entire group. "I've said too much this afternoon. My apologies."

Claudine's expression was stricken as she watched Combeferre leave the room. "I'm sorry..."

"Go after him," Musichetta said with a nod. "It's your only chance."

Claudine took a deep breath and ran her hands through her hair before hurrying out of the room and up the stairs to Combeferre's lodgings. For a moment an uncomfortable silence permeated the room till Azelma kicked her heels against the wall in an attitude of restlessness. "Well he's nasty-"

Prouvaire shook his head. "Azelma, we can't blame him. No one is to blame; we know what we're doing but he can't help looking out for all of us. He always has."

Joly rubbed his cane. "He's tired. He should rest; maybe take the entire tomorrow to stay at home for once. Maybe we all should."

"I think for the most of us, there is  _no_  other choice," Bossuet added. "But will you still be noting down any statements today?" he asked Bahorel.

"Yes, but I could go get yours tomorrow instead, Bossuet," Bahorel said grimly. "Eponine, may we please borrow your room for a little while?"

The young woman nodded. "I see you're doing it like the police really would." She tried to stretch but only ended up stopping midway before she had to catch her breath. "Will you all be staying?" she asked after Bahorel and Bamatabois quit the room.

"I have to get back to work and make sure Bossuet gets some rest," Joly said. Judging by the way Musichetta was looking at him, it seemed as if she'd be accompanying him as well. "Bahorel can call on us tomorrow morning."

"We'll come by here tomorrow, "Cosette said to Eponine. "What, there's no trouble with visiting an injured friend," she said in an undertone to Marius.

"It's just that-"Marius began before finally nodding. "Alright then Cosette. Let's get going before your father wonders if we've been in trouble too."

After a few minutes Feuilly, Leonor, and Grantaire also took their leave while Prouvaire, Azelma, Paulette, and Rossi retreated downstairs to wait either in the kitchen or the concierge's lodge. Only Enjolras, Eponine, and Courfeyrac were left now in the formerly crowded apartment. "He will not stay angry very long. Don't worry about it," Courfeyrac said to Eponine.

Eponine nodded sceptically. "I s'pose that it is up to Claudine now." She turned at the sound of a door opening upstairs, followed by hurried footsteps on the stairway. "In a moment," she whispered before rushing out of the room and into the hall in time to meet whoever was there.

Enjolras turned away at the sight of Eponine trying to console Claudine, who was sobbing violently. "You were saying?" he deadpanned, looking at Courfeyrac.

"Angry with us. As for the more...personal side of the matter..." Courfeyrac trailed off, waiting for the two women to head downstairs. He shook his head. "I figured that Combeferre and Claudine would be the least likely of all of us to create a scene like this."

"How many times have you ever seen them in open conflict?" Enjolras pointed out. He took a deep breath when he saw Combeferre in the doorway. "Please, have a seat."

"I'm sorry for dragging you into this," Combeferre said as he practically collapsed into a chair. For a long moment he was silent, as if he was wrestling with some dreadful thought. "I thought we understood each other," he finally said as he ran his hands through his dishevelled hair.

Enjolras looked down, unsure for a while what to say. He touched his friend's shoulder. "So how do matters stand with you and her?"

"We had it out. It was just as well..." Combeferre said softly, swiping at his now red eyes. "I may be able to forgive her. I can only hope that one day it will be reciprocated."


	38. One's Own Steps and Name

**Chapter 38: One's Own Steps and Name**

' _Three days. You have to rest so those wounds will heal properly.'_

It was all that Eponine could do to ignore Combeferre's instructions as she cautiously made her way in the general direction of Ravigard's bookshop. ' _It's only been two days but all of this is necessary,'_ she reminded herself, all the while trying to ignore the ache that weighed on her shoulders and her back each time she breathed in too deeply. The city was only in the early stages of waking; in fact the rising sun had yet to drive away the majority of the shadows from the streets of Paris, but Eponine had already been up long enough to see to a variety of things such as breakfast for the rest of the household, as well as putting some mail into the post. ' _No one can say I have been completely terrible today,'_ she thought as she finally caught sight of the bookshop's windows.

She bit her lip as she fished in her pocket for a small piece of paper that Citizenness LeClair had handed to her yesterday afternoon, along with a pouch filled with two weeks' worth of her pay. ' _Thank you for your assistance. You need not return to the shop—G. Ravigard,'_ she read silently. This missive had been enough to fill her with a sense of foreboding that she was all too eager to banish. She took a deep breath as she walked up to the shop's door and knocked twice. "Citizen Ravigard?" she called.

The door opened just enough for Ravigard's face to be seen. "Can I help you, Citizenness Thenardier?" he asked coolly.

Eponine showed him the note. "I received your message yesterday, and the money."

"Ah good! I made it clear; I no longer require your services, Citizenness," Ravigard growled.

Eponine gripped the edge of the door, if only to prevent Ravigard from slamming it shut. "This is about the book I found, I know it."

"Brilliant girl! I suppose that the Department of Surveillance already knows that." The gentleman paused to wipe his mouth. "I don't know what you told your  _friends_  there, but you've caused me no end of trouble with their inquiries."

"Perhaps they wouldn't have inquired if they hadn't found something. The addresses, that's what I mean. That's what I saw," she said. She pushed on the door again. "Citizen, it's a serious matter. Fifteen people died at Notre Dame, and five more after. No one knows who did it."

"I will assure you, you will not find the answers here," Ravigard said. "You should be thankful that I did not have you arrested for theft."

"I didn't steal anything! You threw the book out!"

"Get out of my sight before I have to call the police to put you out," he snarled before pushing on the door to finally close it. Eponine just managed to jerk her hand away before her fingers could get trapped against the doorjamb.

' _I'll find something there, I know it,'_ Eponine thought, gritting her teeth as she went to the alley behind the bookshop in hopes of finding some discarded work there that could give her a clue. Much to her chagrin, the narrow street had been cleared of any piles of refuse. She crumpled up Ravigard's note and cast it into a gutter. ' _Well now that's one trouble done, and it's brought me another,'_ she realized.

Instead of returning home, where she would have to explain her absconding as well as her current absence of employment, she decided to quit the area of Rue Saint Dominique, where the shop was located, and head towards the Place Saint-Michel. Since the Cafe Musain was still darkened, she walked on further in the direction of the Place del Sorbonne. All the while Eponine looked about for a lit window, an open door, anything that would suggest a sort of invitation. ' _I s'pose no one can tell me I'm too shabby to talk or linger, not like when I was giving Papa's letters,'_ she thought as she fiddled with her gloves. In those days she'd given the letters to persons and then scurried off before anyone could ask too many questions. ' _What sort of enterprise can I take if I am no seamstress and I can only cook just a little?'_ she wondered a little crossly.

There were more people on the streets now; shops were opening, some students were heading to early classes, and some housewives were bringing their clothes down to the laundresses. Despite this hustle and bustle, Eponine distinctly heard a wolf whistle as she walked past a group of students. She tried sidestepping in order to avoid them, only to nearly collide with a well-dressed woman who'd been emerging from a shop. She could have sworn that this lady hissed an insult at her as she hurried past, but she willed herself to simply ignore it as she arrived on the Rue des Macons. She bit her lip as she caught sight of a door with a sign that said:  _"Help Wanted: Applicants Please Enter. Must be able to write and do sums."_

She looked about the still busy street before knocking thrice on the door. "Are you visiting or applying?" a woman asked sharply from inside the house.

"Applying, Citizenness," Eponine replied. She stood up straight as the door opened to reveal a rather squat lady with her hands still wet, as if she'd been washing something. Her black dress though was neat and elegant, and she wore a white cap over her salt and pepper hair. "I saw your sign, Citizenness, and I thought that I might ask since I really need some situation-"

"That will do, girl," the woman said, wiping her hands on an apron. She squinted as she looked Eponine from head to toe. "I have no use for a maid, though."

Eponine shook her head. "Not to be a maid, Citizenness. I'd be very silly doing that, I think. I could do what your sign says; if you can give me a piece of paper and a pen, I can show you what I mean."

"You are educated?"

"My parents taught me some, and I used to work in a bookshop."

The matron's brow furrowed. "Who are you?"

"Eponine Thenardier."

The woman's eyes widened. "Is that really your name?"

"I don't go by any other," Eponine replied a little more cautiously. ' _At least not anymore.'_

"I'm sorry for that question; I actually expected you'd be older," the woman said. "I'm Odette Stendhal, though of course that is Citizenness Stendhal to the neighbours." She looked over her shoulder. "Emile you useless boy, put on something decent! We have a guest!"

"Who is it?" a drowsy voice drawled from inside the house.

"A young lady," Odette shouted. She waited for a few moments before letting Eponine into the house. She gestured to a badly lit room piled high with books and papers. "Citizen Stendhal's study...when he was still alive. He was a scholar and a translator. His finest project with some friends was an encyclopaedia in English and German. Now it's my son who'll take over the translating work but there's always so much to be done with accounts and making clean copies. That is why I asked for help."

Eponine swallowed hard. "I'm sorry for your loss, Citizenness."

Odette smiled bravely. "He lived well." She motioned for Eponine to follow her into a tight nook that was fitted out as a sort of drawing room, with a fireplace and some comfortable seats. "Weren't you employed elsewhere? That is how I heard you had all those pamphlets printed," she said.

"I was, but I left my job owing to some differences in opinion."

"No disrespect meant, but why didn't you appeal first to your friends in the  _Radicaux_  party? I am sure that at least one of them would have been honoured to take you on as a full time assistant, since it appears that is your inclination."

Eponine willed herself to keep a straight face, even as she remembered for a moment how she'd offered to do a similar thing for Enjolras just two days ago. "I prefer to have employment that is not always related to political work," she explained. "It's safer that way."

"That is wise," Odette mused. She clucked her tongue at the sight of a gangly young man sauntering up to them. "Emile, for heaven's sake, don't you know who will now be working for us?"

"Maman, I  _have_  actually heard of her before," Emile Stendhal said. He was a pale, almost languid figure with almost colorless hair that fell into his eyes. "You might not have heard of me, Citizenness, but I'm acquainted with your friend Citizen Prouvaire," he said to Eponine.

"He has far too many acquaintances for me to recall," Eponine replied. ' _He's probably not among those who like to rehearse poems in Prouvaire's flat,'_ she thought as she listened to Emile and Odette discuss an unfinished volume. "Citizenness Stendhal, I s'pose I have to know if you will employ me," she spoke up after a while.

"That would depend on how much you ask," Odette said. "The pay is dependent of course on the number of translations, but I have been able to work it out so you can get around one thousand francs a year. A few hundred more, depending on how business goes."

' _A few hundred less than what Citizen Ravigard would give,'_ Eponine thought but she already found herself nodding. Her room cost her less than thirty francs, food was something negotiable at least where she was concerned, and the biggest expenses were mostly for her brothers' clothes and necessities. "I will be able to make the best of it," she said slowly.

"Perhaps after some time we can discuss giving you a little more," Odette added. "I'll get Emile to clean up the workroom first, so you can come back here tomorrow morning and get started without the mess. I am sure you will not have difficulty finding this place since it is rather near the Sorbonne. Would being here at half-past seven be amenable to you?"

"Well, I think so."

"Good. We do things early here. Emile likes to finish work around 4, so that means you can probably finish up at that time," Odette said. "I wouldn't want to get in the way of your politics."

"How is Citizen Enjolras?" Emile asked. "I heard he is bedridden?"

"Oh he's not in  _that_  terrible situation. He's quite capable of getting about but he was advised to rest a little bit," Eponine said with a grin. ' _Once he's awake, he's probably going to argue with Combeferre or the concierge again,'_ she thought.

"That's better than what happened to Citizen Paquet. Broken ribs. He'll live, I heard but they say he may have to consider giving up the campaign. Then I hear that Citizen Turpin may resign too; that leaves us only with Citizens Enjolras, Jeanne, and Blanchard," Emile told her. "And there's only one man from the  _Democrates_  party left in the running, that Citizen Bamatabois from the Marais since the rest are either dead or injured. As for those  _Constitutionalists..."_ he trailed off before making an obscene gesture.

"They were also hurt," Eponine pointed out.

"Merely because they themselves are dissatisfied by their own candidates," Emile said.

"Emile you morbid child, don't talk about Notre Dame!" Odette scolded.

"Maman, it's in the papers already and Citizenness Thenardier was there herself," Emile said with a long-suffering look.

"Of course she was!" Odette exclaimed. She shook her head and wiped her hands again. "You'd better get started with cleaning out that room."

Emile sighed. "Please give my regards to Citizen Prouvaire and Citizen Enjolras," he said to Eponine before stalking out of the room.

' _That's one who doesn't see a lot of sunlight,'_ Eponine couldn't help noting. "Seven-thirty tomorrow. You can count on it. Thank you Citizenness," she said to Odette.

"No, thank you. I know I was a little surprised to see you knocking, but I'd rather have a  _Radicaux_  member here than some stuffed shirt," Odette whispered confidentially. "Now run along. I will have a lot of work for you tomorrow."

After taking her leave of the Stendhals, Eponine set off in the direction of the Place de l'Odeon; Bahorel resided in this neighbourhood. ' _Prouvaire said that Bahorel is a late riser, so I don't think he's at the Hotel de Ville just yet,'_ she told herself. After managing to convince Bahorel's concierge to let her in, she found herself shown to a second floor apartment.

When Eponine knocked, she heard from within what sounded like someone getting up from a creaky chair. "If you're looking for Damien, he's already gone to work," a distinctly feminine voice said.

"Where?" Eponine blurted out. ' _I've come across his mistress. What do I do?'_ she wondered, remembering now that Bahorel had once mentioned a woman. Before she could think of running down the stairs again, the door opened. Standing there was a woman who was perhaps just a little shy of thirty years. She was wearing a rather casual white morning dress that showed off her slightly tanned arms and sturdy frame. Her raven hair fell past her shoulders in rather unruly ringlets, and her cheeks were ruddy even without any rouge.

"I guess you weren't expecting me, but I was not expecting to wake up so late either," the woman said with a slight laugh. "I'm Therese Perrot. You must be Eponine Thenardier."

"How did you know?"

"Only a simple deduction," Therese said gaily. "Most people don't come up here unless it is work or politics. I'm the only one who has a treaty with Damien regarding anything personal. I know that Damien doesn't have any women colleagues in his department, so I presumed that you must be from the  _Radicaux_  party. I've met some of the others before, and since your face is decidedly unfamiliar and you are very young, I decided I had two or three guesses."

Eponine couldn't help but grin at this lively explanation. "I'm sorry for intruding. But well, I s'pose you know about what happened at Notre Dame. I need to ask Bahorel something about it."

"That's what's keeping him busy nowadays, as if he means to catch the murderers himself," Therese said. "He got pretty close to finding them at that moment I think. If you wait while I get something for the weather, I'll help you find Damien-"

"I'm not exactly lost, Therese! I merely forgot something," Bahorel's voice boomed from the stairway. "Now  _this_  is a surprise, Eponine. I didn't know you two were acquainted," he said when he saw the other girl.

"Not till a few moments ago," Therese said with a giggle.

Eponine merely smiled. "Bahorel, I was thinking that I need to get something to protect my brothers with. Citizen Ravigard is angry with me, of course, and there's the note Enjolras got and other things," she said more seriously to her friend.

Bahorel's brow furrowed as he ran a hand over his unshaven chin. "A weapon then?"

Eponine nodded. "A pistol."

"Wouldn't a knife or poniard be a little better for you to manage?" Bahorel wondered aloud. "Though I see why you'd prefer a firearm, at least for a diversion. I didn't know you knew how to handle a pistol."

Eponine looked down. "I didn't even use one at the barricade."

"Hercle, now that is your first problem!" Bahorel exclaimed.

"You could teach me," Eponine said, looking at him. "Any of you men could but not all of you  _would_."

"You are a fine marksman. You can contrive something," Therese chimed in.

"My dear, a gun can be ungallant but a hand is surer; it makes a fairer contest when a man knows the weight of what will be dealt to him," Bahorel said.

Therese laughed but more ruefully. "I  _dare_  you to say that the next time I must bandage your knuckles."

Now even Eponine couldn't help laughing, but the ache in her body soon forced her to stop. "How do you manage with him?" she asked Therese.

"With difficulty. And staying out of matters such as gunnery," Therese replied.

"Charming!" Bahorel retorted, clearly making some show of looking cross as his mistress flounced back into the room. "Now back to the matter of small arms; I can most likely find you one or a brace of pistols. That is one matter. However a woman bearing arms is still not allowed; you and Claudine have yet to make a case for it."

"There is no time."

"Exactly. Better at least to give a weapon to you than to your brother, he is still too young for it."

"I don't s'pose I'd carry a gun around most days but perhaps only if there is danger."

"Such as from those who know our movements?"

She nodded. "Well you must know that I have a new situation; do you know the Stendhals, Bahorel? I spoke with the lady and she's letting me come to help with their shop."

"Stendhal? Ah, Prouvaire's friend and old schoolfellow. With you there and his mother, that poor boy is now caught in a tempest," he said. "The better that you left before old Ravigard could make the situation untenable. We still do not know if what he was about had anything to do with Notre Dame."

Eponine bit her lip, not liking this bit of news. "Those addresses were good for nothing."

"Some. A few people have been removing. Babet is of course, nowhere to be found."

' _Perhaps I should call on Montparnasse and ask what he knows,'_ Eponine thought. Perhaps it would not be difficult to locate a familiar dandy who had yet to lose his pretensions, and surely it would be safer than approaching Babet or Gueulemer. "When can you give me the pistols?"

"Tomorrow then," Bahorel said before Therese made her appearance to pull him back into the room. "For now though-"

"You ought to do some searching first, Damien," Therese said. "We'll meet again, will we?" she asked Eponine eagerly.

"I think so," Eponine said cordially, already liking this woman's manner.

"Good," Therese replied, her smile turning mischievous before she shut the door.

Eponine could have sworn as she walked away that she heard more laughter and the sound of someone backing up against the wall.  _'At least it's better than an alley,'_ she couldn't help thinking as she went back outside. She bit her lip as she heard in the distance the sounds of church bells tolling the hour: it was now eight in the morning, the hour when Combeferre was sure to be back from the Necker. She had to walk quickly instead of running back to the Rue Jean Jacques Rousseau; sprinting was out of the question in her condition.

When she arrived at the house, she found Musichetta sitting on the stairs, with a rather troubled expression on her face. "Where have you been?" her friend asked, getting to her feet.

"Getting a new situation and some other things. Where is Joly? Is something wrong?" Eponine replied.

"Joly is upstairs," Musichetta said. Her eyes were dark as she looked at her friend. "Eponine, why did that braggart Theodule Gillenormand suddenly decide he had to call on you?"

"He did? When?" Eponine asked incredulously.

"A quarter of an hour ago, and he told me you wrote back to him and he got your letter this morning," Musichetta said sternly. "I told him you were out and you wouldn't be back for a while."

"Chetta, you could have asked him to stay!" the younger girl protested. "All he wrote was that he was back from Dijon, and all I told him was that I wanted to hear of it. It would have been nothing more than a friendly call."

Musichetta crossed her arms. "A friendly call? You really think so?"

"Well, yes. You know that he was a friend to me," Eponine said crossly. "I know we've had our fights, over some of the same reasons that Claudine and Combeferre have now for fighting. But that doesn't mean I should have absolutely nothing to do with him."

"I'm not saying that you should be a complete stranger to him; that's impossible here in Paris," Musichetta argued. "All I'm saying is that you should be clearer as to how matters truly stand between you and him. Do not get his hopes up. For his sake, for your sake, for Enjolras' sake."

Eponine's brow furrowed. "Now what does  _he_  have to do with it?"

Musichetta let out a long suffering sigh. "Enjolras has paid you more attention than Theodule Gillenormand and Marius Pontmercy ever did, and combined at that."

"He's my neighbor and well, I help him with politics. We're friends. It's impossible for us to ignore each other," Eponine retorted. "He's not with me like how you are with Joly."

"There's not much use in comparing my situation with yours," Musichetta pointed out.

"Also I s'pose if Enjolras ever meant anything, he would have said so!" Eponine retorted. ' _He has no problem speaking to anyone, so if he does feel something he would have mentioned it,'_ she thought. Somehow the idea was enough to cause a slight pang of uneasiness, but she pinched herself to clear her mind of this notion.

Musichetta shook her head. "Don't say I didn't warn you, Eponine. I don't want to see the two of you get hurt, especially at a time like this."

Eponine bit her lip. "You still shouldn't have told Theodule to go." She looked up at the sound of a door opening upstairs, followed by the unmistakable sound of her neighbours arguing.

"I can assure you, Combeferre, I'm no invalid. You surely have seen men manage with far worse injuries, and even fight at barricades and  _emeutes_. This is just a simple matter of dealing with every day necessities," Enjolras said tersely. "If I can care for myself, you will be able to rest, which is something that should not be denied to you."

"Yes but an inadvertent movement could set you back days or even weeks," Combeferre replied. "It would be irresponsible for me to sit back when you can injure yourself again."

"It is just walking."

"On a level surface is permissible, but I must insist that you refrain from going downstairs without some sort of assistance!"

Musichetta looked at Eponine. "Combeferre doesn't know you're down here?"

Eponine shook her head. "I couldn't tell him of course."

It was at that moment when Combeferre happened to catch sight of the women on the stairs. The doctor stared at Eponine and then shook his head. "Who allowed you out of the house?" he asked, rubbing his temples.

"I let myself out."

"I told you that you needed three days of rest!" Combeferre retorted exasperatedly. "Why is it also so difficult for you to simply follow instructions?"

"I've had a lot to do, and I'm tired of lying down all day!" Eponine answered. She could see Enjolras and Joly in the upstairs hallway. Enjolras was stoic as he leaned against a wall, but Joly was watching with a bemused expression.

"You could have opened up your wounds again," Combeferre pointed out, shaking his head.

"I didn't. Anyway I wasn't planning to be away for very long and I returned home as soon as I finished with my errands," Eponine said. "You can't say I wasn't being even a little careful."

Combeferre pinched the bridge of his nose. "Nothing I can do, not even the best care I can give, will be of use if you insist on not cooperating."

"Yet it is your skill that has allowed Eponine to return to her daily activities in such a short span of time, and with apparently relatively little trouble. This alone should give you less reason to worry," Enjolras observed. For a moment Eponine thought he had caught her eye, long enough to give her a rather conspiratorial look. This was enough to make her smile, but she quickly hid this behind her sleeve.

"Which is why you ought to take my advice, Combeferre: get some sleep, and then once you're ready, go and see Claudine at Picpus," Joly chimed in.

Combeferre nodded reluctantly. "You think I'm ready for it?"

"You are. This isn't a problem that requires flair and doeskin trousers," Joly said. "Musichetta and I are here to help manage with Neville, and also since Eponine is home, so much the better."

Combeferre took a deep breath. "Thank you," he muttered.

Eponine and Musichetta hurried upstairs as Combeferre wearily went to his own room. "Poor man. It's really telling on him," Eponine said as soon as Combeferre had shut his door. "Has there been no word from Claudine?"

"Of course she wouldn't send anything to him," Musichetta said. "I don't know exactly what happened the last time they talked, but they seem to have wounded each other rather deeply."

"At the very least he is willing to make an advance towards some reconciliation. That in itself is a start," Enjolras mused. "I gather though that helping Combeferre isn't your only reason for being here rather early in the morning?"

Joly and Musichetta exchanged looks. "We wanted to tell Combeferre too, but it may have to wait for another time," Joly said, smiling widely. "Musichetta and I have set our wedding for this coming April."

Eponine stared incredulously at her friends while Enjolras voiced his congratulations. "I thought-"

"That we were fighting?" Musichetta said. "Something similar to it but I figured that I didn't want to lose him, and he felt the same way."

Eponine nodded, managing to return her friends' smiles. "I'm happy for both of you. I thought it would be a long time till I'd ever see another wedding."

"It won't be as grand as the Pontmercys' wedding, but I fully intend not to make it shabby either," Musichetta replied.

Eponine grinned, knowing of her friend's tastes. She stepped aside to let Joly and Musichetta meet Neville, who had apparently just woken up. "Well, shall we go downstairs?" she asked Enjolras. "I don't s'pose you can lean on my shoulder, but if you hold on to my arm maybe? It's a good thing your left hand isn't hurt."

He reddened for a moment. "Is there any other way?" he asked. Nevertheless he let her help him down the stairs and then to where they usually sat at the kitchen table.

"I have news from outside," she informed him as soon as he was comfortable.

"That is to be expected," Enjolras said with a knowing smile. "Where did you go?"

Eponine quickly narrated her visit to the Stendhals, particularly the news that Emile had relayed to her. Somehow it felt easier to talk to him this way instead of recalling what Musichetta had warned her about. It was something that provided more answers for once. "What are they saying in the  _Moniteur_?" she asked him when she finished her narrative.

"The same, except for what Stendhal had to say about the  _Constitutionalists."_ Enjolras wiggled the fingers of his injured hand, as if testing them. "I should get back to my desk-"

"After all this trouble to come down and you want to go up again?" Eponine laughed. "No, you sit here. I'll get it for you; I know where you keep your things." In a few minutes she returned with some paper as well as his usual pen and some ink. She couldn't help but stop in the doorway when she saw him apparently deep in thought, with his eyes narrowed in the way that she knew they did whenever he was pondering some sort of worry. "Enjolras?" she asked, setting down the materials next to his elbow.

He managed a brief smile as he looked at her. "You knew that when you looked into Citizen Ravigard's books that there would be consequences?"

"I knew he'd be angry," she said. Now that she thought about it, perhaps she had seen it already coming, but had not expected the actual details of it. She shook her head at Enjolras' rather pensive expression as she reached for his arm. "It would have happened some time, Enjolras. I would have had to leave once he knew I was getting curious. You know I like to ask questions, as much as you do."


	39. Outrage and Connections

_A/N: No updates till around the time of barricade day._

**Chapter 39: Outrage and Connections**

Despite having managed to finish a great deal of writing during his unexpected absence, Enjolras still found himself faced with a rather forbidding heap of letters and other documents when he returned to the Palais de Justice on the 22nd of January. ' _Cleaning up this room may as well be a Sisyphean task,'_ he realized some time after midday, when he had finished seeing to his cases, and was now seeing to his correspondence. Many of the desks, including those of his colleagues Bamatabois and Blanchard, were piled high with portfolios, letters, and other miscellany, and still more documents littered the floor. The office was unusually deserted that morning; a number of lawyers were down at the courts, others were at meetings, and a few were also still convalescing after the attack at Notre Dame.

As he set aside some letters from various friends in the south, he caught sight of another small envelope with a featureless seal. His eyes narrowed when he opened the envelope and was confronted with a blank sheet of paper. ' _I'll find out who sent this yet,'_ he thought as he held this paper to a lamp. In a few moments he saw the unmistakable lines of a fleur-de-lis in one corner of the paper, and this line:  _'Since you do not fear Thermidor'_  followed by a list of five dates according to the First Republic's calendar.

Enjolras looked around for a moment to make sure he was alone in the office before he carefully reread the list. ' _If not me, then they will seek out my friends. But which ones?'_ he wondered, understanding the warning behind this list. Combeferre and Prouvaire were almost certainly targets; the sender had listed the death days of the chemist Lavoisier and the poet Chenier. He was not sure as to what meaning could be attached to the day of the demise of Danton and Desmoulins. There were two more days listed, namely the executions of Manon Roland and Olympe de Gouges. ' _Most likely for Eponine and Claudine,'_ he realized as he quickly checked the letter again for any date or clue that could tell him how old the message was. ' _This was not here the day before the assembly. Whoever left it here knew that somehow I would return within a week or so after the incident,'_ he noted. The only slight consolation was that at least to his knowledge, none of his friends had received any threats as of this morning.

As he set the letter aside, he heard muffled oaths, the crash of a body falling against some steps, and then running footsteps. Enjolras found his pen knife in his coat pocket and discreetly slipped it under some papers moments before someone threw the door open and stumbled into the room.

Enjolras quickly went to catch this unfortunate before he could collapse. The effort sent some slight twinges of pain through his injured wrist as well as his ankle, but he still managed to keep his grip and his footing. "Citizen Ouvrard!" he muttered, recognizing this man underneath the bloodied bandages that swathed his head and upper body.

Florentin Ouvrard gasped for breath and clutched at his side. "God bless you, Citizen Enjolras. You have to hide me; they are out for blood there," he wheezed.

"Who?"

"Those blasted  _Democrates_  stooges, who else?"

Before Enjolras could inquire further, he heard more footsteps in the corridor. He half-dragged Ouvrard behind one of the desks just seconds before four men all dressed in smocks and velvet trousers ran into the room. Three of them were brandishing clubs while the leader of the group carried a thick rope already fashioned into a noose.

"Citizen Enjolras, you're hiding a murderer in this room," the man with the rope said in a menacing tone.

"He is not a murderer unless proven in a fair trial," Enjolras answered calmly.

The man with the rope spat. "Try telling that to the twenty families who are in mourning now. It was he who planned the attack that almost killed us and you as well."

"I am not handing over a fellow citizen to be strung up," he said more sternly. ' _Where is a stick when I need it?'_ he wondered as he cast a quick glance over his surroundings. Successfully taking on these four men was rather out of the question in his condition, but he could at least hope to give Ouvrard an opportunity for escape.

"We thought you were a man of justice, Citizen!" one of the other men bellowed. "Allow us then to exact justice on that  _Constitutionalists_  coward!"

Enjolras shook his head. "I will not allow it. His guilt is not proven. Leave."

For a moment none of these intruders stirred until one of the men cursed under his breath, only to have a companion cuff him and lead him out of the room. The man with the noose was the last to leave the room, but only after shooting a glare in the general direction of Ouvrard's hiding place.

It was only after their footsteps faded that Ouvrard crawled out of his hiding place. "You didn't have to do that, Citizen," he said to Enjolras.

' _No, it is only my place to avert another execution,'_ Enjolras thought even as he heard a knock on the door and saw Bamatabois walk in. Ouvrard swore and backed away; the newcomer was holding a pistol and he appeared to be carrying still more firearms in his waistcoat.

"I was only making sure those thugs were gone," Bamatabois said harshly to Ouvrard. "You can rest a little easy."

"They are from your party," Ouvrard replied accusingly.

"I do not know them or condone what they are doing. I only called the police to break up the mob since I don't want blood at my workplace," Bamatabois retorted. "It was the least I could do for the only people who helped Dufour: you, Combeferre, Joly, and Citizenness Thenardier," he said to Enjolras.

Enjolras nodded gratefully. "Thank you." He retrieved his pen knife from his desk and arranged his papers. He stashed a few documents and all his letters in a satchel and locked the remainder in his desk. "We'd better get you to a doctor, Citizen," he said to Ouvrard.

Bamatabois stepped out into the hall to call for help before giving Enjolras a pointed look. "I understand why you'd help Citizen Rossi; I almost like the fellow. That Citizen Ouvrard has the old regime written all over him," he muttered, stepping aside to let some other attorneys come in to assist Ouvrard.

Enjolras placed a firm hand on his shoulder. "The investigation is still ongoing. No accusations can be justified yet." He looked at the two men who were now propping up Ouvrard. "Have the police arrived?"

One of the men nodded. "The crowd has been dispersed."

"Keep him out of sight, and make sure he gets to his destination."

Bamatabois' lips moved as if he was about to protest, but he settled for a resigned shrug as Ouvrard was half-carried out of the room. "I haven't the heart to deal with all of those today," he said, pointing to his own messy desk. "You must have heard that I am the only  _Democrates_  candidate who is still in any shape to finish these elections," he added more anxiously.

"Haven't you met yet to address this matter?"

"Not yet. Maybe today," Bamatabois said. He looked Enjolras from head to toe. "I'm surprised you still walk about unarmed, except for your pen knife."

"I see no need to; carrying a gun might be misconstrued as provocation," Enjolras replied.

Bamatabois nodded sceptically. "So where are you going?"

"The Hotel de Ville."

"Why...ah, the Department of Surveillance?" Bamatabois asked in an undertone. "Was Citizen Bahorel able to reconcile the twenty testimonies he got?"

"If he did, I'm certain we'll know of it," Enjolras said.

Much to his surprise, Bahorel was not at the department's office; he had left not a quarter of an hour before. "Looked like he was in a hurry; said he'd be at the Rue des Macons," one of the clerks reported. "Which is too bad, since I finally found the notes he was searching for in the old commissary," he added, holding out some papers and an old sort of pocketbook.

"Whose are these?"

"A late inspector; dead six months now. I think his name was Javert."

The name of this spectre made Enjolras pause. "What was he investigating?"

"Something with the sewers, and prisoners' movements," the clerk said. "Citizen Bahorel said he had to learn of past investigations, so I thought this might be useful."

"I'll bring this to him. Thank you Citizen..."

"Duchamp."

Enjolras nodded, taking note of the name. Bamatabois however seemed less pleased. "He's probably off loafing again, or with his overly merry mistress."

"Yes but when he loafs nowadays he has one eye on matters," Enjolras pointed out, already deciding not to even dignify the second possibility. "You can stay behind or return to the Marais or the Palais de Justice if that is your wish."

"Do I have any choice if I want to learn the answers?" Bamatabois groused as they left the Hotel de Ville. "What's there at the Rue des Macons?"

"Translators," Enjolras replied. ' _He is not rushing to the Stendhals, is he?'_ he wondered a little worriedly as he hailed a fiacre; he could already feel an ache starting up in his ankle. While in the fiacre, he took a quick survey of the papers that Duchamp had recovered, particularly in the latter portions. ' _Criminal elements in the right bank of the Seine indeed,'_ he thought as he found some detailed descriptions as to names, faces, and movements. However none of these matched the visages of the men who'd attacked Ouvrard. ' _Perhaps some new elements, but the middleman may be in these pages,'_ he thought.

He and Bamatabois alighted at the corner of the Rue des Macons near the Place del Sorbonne, and walked the rest of the way to the Stendhals' house. The door was ajar when they arrived, and the sounds of a furious argument could be heard from the front office. Enjolras shook his head before entering the fray. "Good afternoon, Eponine. Likewise to you, Bahorel. Good day Citizen Paquet."

"Enjolras! This is a surprise," Eponine replied, not hiding her grin. "Why are you here?"

"An inquiry," Enjolras said, nodding to Bahorel as he held up the papers. ' _All the same I have to warn her,'_ he thought, remembering now the missive he'd decoded.

Paquet sneered at Enjolras. The professor was on two rather rude crutches, with one arm in a sling. "So here is the head traitor," he said softly. His expression turned into one of utter disgust when he also saw Bamatabois in the doorway. "So when Enjolras is the head of the  _Radicaux_ , he will also help you, Citizen Bamatabois?" he asked the other newcomer.

"What is this about?" Enjolras asked.

Paquet's face was livid as he looked Enjolras in the eye. "It was you who was conspiring with Blanchard and Turpin to take over the leadership of the party." He threw down a rolled paper at Enjolras' feet. "Do not pretend you are unaware of this."

Enjolras picked up the paper and saw that it was a petition containing about fifty signatures, asking for Paquet's removal as the head of the  _Radicaux_  party. The first signature on the list was that of Blanchard's. He also saw that Grantaire, Leonor, Coutard, and some of his other acquaintances had also affixed their names. "If I had been asked to sign this petition, I would not have done so," he said to Paquet in a level tone.

"For now!" Paquet laughed. "You would have if the leadership was offered to you; don't you think I am unaware of your ambitions." He smirked as he looked at Eponine and Bahorel. "And don't think I hold the two of you exempt from that either. You especially, Citizenness Thenardier."

"Your argument is not with her or with Citizen Bahorel," Enjolras said coldly to Paquet. He noticed that Bahorel's jaw was set but he shook his head, not wishing for his friend to settle the argument in an untoward manner.

Paquet grabbed the petition back. "I'll be keeping an eye on you. I will be plain: your position is precarious. We still have more than two weeks before the elections. Good day to all of you."

Eponine clenched her fist as she watched Paquet leave. "That horrible man! I don't know how you can stand with him, Enjolras! He's said nothing but terrible things about you the entire time he was here."

"Admittedly matters could have been more convivial between us," Enjolras pointed out. "What did he come here for?"

"To ask if I knew where you were. Well he said too much and I won't stand for it. There!" Eponine insisted. "Though you came looking for Bahorel and not for me?" she asked a little crossly.

"You too. There is something you must know," Enjolras said, handing to her the missive he'd decoded. He also handed the pocketbook and other papers to Bahorel. "These came from the commissary."

"The notes of...Javert? The spy at the barricade?" Bahorel said.

"Yes; he had been ordered to also investigate the right bank of the Seine after he was through with his other activities," Enjolras said. "Apparently he was investigating for quite some time. Why did you rush here to the Rue des Macons?"

"There has been an escape from the prison. Not Patron-Minette, but other criminals. There is a plot extending  _into_  the walls from beyond our borders," Bahorel said. "I rushed here in order to get a translation of some of the papers found in a scuffle; Emile is working on them right now since I don't think I want to get Pontmercy involved."

"Understandably," Enjolras said. He looked to Eponine as she handed the decoded letter back to him. "I'm sorry if this has frightened you."

She shook her head. "Which date then is mine?"

' _I would rather not find out,'_ Enjolras said. He touched her arm lightly. "We'll do all we can so that these threats will only remain threats."

Eponine sighed. "You may as well know." She reached under her desk and pulled out a small pistol. "It's a knock-me-down. I also have another. If not to save me, then at least my brothers or someone else."

The sight of the gun in Eponine's hand sent a chill through Enjolras. "Eponine, you have never fired a gun before. You might cause more danger than you hope to prevent," he scolded.

She shook her head before pulling him close and reaching into his coat. In a moment she had his penknife in her hand. "Why would it be different from having this?"

"Because a knife can be explained away as being useful for a pen or some other purpose. A gun on the other hand means that one is anticipating some sort of combat," he explained tersely as he took back the blade.

"Well I shan't be the first to fire then."

"That may be more difficult than you think."

Bahorel looked guiltily at Enjolras. "I was the one who gave her the guns."

"You? Why?"

"She asked for it."

"Bahorel, I understand that the crisis is dire, but we have to be prudent."

"It is necessity. We all fear the same thing, and we have to do what we can to prevent it," Bahorel argued. "Otherwise it is almost tantamount to suicide to not protect ourselves from an obvious threat."

"At risk of drawing unnecessary suspicion?" Enjolras pointed out.

Bahorel shook his head before looking towards the sound of someone hurrying in from a backroom. "What have you found there, Emile?" he asked.

Emile stopped at the sight of Enjolras and mumbled a greeting. "It's not good. It's an official communication; someone in prison would have translated it for them." He took a deep breath as he smoothed out some torn papers. "I cannot be certain; they might have thrown out the other letters but there are references to what happened at Notre Dame, or what they wanted to happen."

"Are there any addresses or other dates?" Bahorel asked.

"None, at least from what I could find," Stendhal said. "They wouldn't just include them in the letters, even if they were in English or German."

"There has to be a code to that," Bahorel said. "Please copy out your translation, Emile. I need to take a copy of it to the Department of Surveillance." He looked grimly at Enjolras. "You might want to write to Aix and get the rest to write to the Midi and Bossuet to Meaux. We need news."


	40. A War in Ink

_A post barricade life for a barricade day update_

**Chapter 40: A War in Ink**

It was not at all difficult for Eponine to adjust to the pace of working at the Stendhals' shop; in fact within a few days she had lapsed back into her habit of singing while she was at work. The morning of the 30th of January was no exception. Today she'd taken a rather badly blotted translation of Paine's "Common Sense" to the front office in order to begin recopying it. It was not long till these words leapt to her lips: ' _You leave me to go to glory; my sad heart will follow you everywhere—'_

"Eponine! What are you doing?" the shrill voice of Odette came from the front hall.

"Rewriting!" Eponine called, sitting up straight and gripping her pen more tightly. ' _Can't have her thinking I'm simply dreaming while at work,'_ she thought as the matron puttered into the room, her brow furrowed as she perused some newspapers.

"Have you seen this already?" Odette asked, holding up one of the papers. "These horrible journalists are at it again, saying all these things about the candidates!"

"What sorts of things?" Eponine asked as she got off her stool to take a look at the paper. She giggled on seeing that Odette was holding out the latest issue of the  _Charivari_. ' _Something that is supposed to be a big joke,'_ she thought as she got a look at one of the articles. Nevertheless she couldn't help frowning on realizing that the article was about the latest salvo in the tiff among the candidates, in particular the  _Radicaux_  candidates' comments on the 'placeholders' being fielded by the  _Democrates_  party owing to the fact that nearly all the candidates except for Bamatabois had backed out of the legislature race.

"Imagine, comparing Citizen Blanchard to a parrot!" Odette complained as she put down the rest of the newspapers she carried. "How could these writers be so disrespectful? When I was a little girl no one dared to make comments of that sort-"

"Maman, they actually did worse!" Emile bawled from the next room.

"Because of the guillotines!" Odette retorted harshly. "Why must they cause such trouble writing back and forth the way that...Marat I think, did?"

Emile sauntered into the front office to set down another translation on Eponine's desk. "Maman, it is at least more civilized than having an actual duel."

"I give it a few days more and then there will be words that will necessitate having real weapons," Odette muttered.

Meanwhile Eponine began looking through some of the other newsletters that her employer had brought. Some she recognized as being among the smaller works circulated by the various parties while others were perhaps gazettes. She sighed on finding one of the articles written by Coutard describing the  _Radicaux_  agenda in the Midi; she was pretty sure that it was a commentary that was not kindly received by most of the party's members in Paris, owing to the writing's tone as much as its content. ' _Is this why Coutard and Leonor wanted Enjolras to run in Aix?'_ she wondered.

Emile snatched up the copy of  _Charvari_  and burst out laughing after reading through a few paragraphs. "Eponine, do you actually agree with this? I know you're a friend of that Citizen Bamatabois, and that Citizen Blanchard knows you too," he asked, evading his mother's attempts to pinch him.

"Well I think Citizen Blanchard did say some things that  _shouldn't_  be said, but I also think that Citizen Bamatabois and the  _Democrates_  party doesn't really have a choice either when it comes to candidates," Eponine said. ' _After what happened at Notre Dame, everyone thinks everyone is out to get them, and maybe with all of those letters going about that could actually be true.'_

"Do you know why those candidates were picked?" Odette asked warily.

"No, of course Citizen Bamatabois wouldn't tell any of his friends outside the party."

Emile nodded. "What does Citizen Enjolras think of them?"

Eponine shrugged as she picked up her pen again. "I don't know, Stendhal. He doesn't say much about them, or about anyone."

"The man is always so serious and stoic!" Odette exclaimed, clearly making a show of sounding exasperated. "You'd think that with a lovely young lady in his life, he'd be a little less reserved!" she added, looking pointedly at Eponine.

"If there was a 'lovely young lady' in his life, I think I'd certainly know about it!" the girl muttered under her breath.

"Be careful, Eponine, that smacks a little of jealousy," the older woman warned.

"I'm not jealous; I've just never seen or heard of him courting anyone."

Odette rolled her eyes before sitting down at the window to read the papers. Emile retreated to his desk in the next room while Eponine continued recopying lines. She frowned at a bit of dust covering the shiny inkstand, and she used her palm to wipe it off. As she did this, she happened to catch sight of her reflection. ' _At least I look something like a lady now, far better than before,'_ she couldn't help thinking as she pulled a stray strand of hair behind her ear. ' _Probably not enough to catch Enjolras' eye though, but I'm not sure if that's what he'd notice anyway,'_ she thought as she found a fresh sheet of paper.

Suddenly someone knocked once on the door, prompting Emile to get out of his seat and take a look. He exchanged a few cordial words with the visitor before shouting, "Eponine, Citizen Prouvaire has a message for you!"

"What is it, Prouvaire?" Eponine asked.

"We're needed at the Place du Pantheon," Prouvaire said, straightening out the small cockade in his hat. "There's some meeting and an announcement to be made by the  _Radicaux_ party."

"Who's 'we'?"

"Some writers, journalists too. Anyone who's published anything for or about the party. That's why I didn't ask Azelma to come with me."

Eponine bit her lip, trying to imagine what could necessitate this sort of gathering. "Did anyone say what about?" she asked.

Prouvaire shook his head. "I don't like what I think this is leading to."

"Nor do I."

Emile had been listening to all of this with an increasingly perturbed expression. "Does this have to do with that  _new_  petition that Citizen Blanchard headed?" he asked in a whisper.

"Maybe, but I do hope  _not_ , or Citizen Paquet might go find someone else to yell at," Eponine remarked.

"He might; I signed that petition," Emile admitted grimly. "So did more of your friends; I saw the signatures of Citizen Bahorel, Citizen Feuilly, and even your good friend Citizenness Andreas."

' _It must be serious if even Claudine has signed it,'_ Eponine realized. She couldn't help but wonder what Combeferre must have thought of her friend's action. "Well I shall have to take my leave," she said.

"I'll go too. I want to see this," Emile said under his breath.

"Not you, Emile. I need you here!" Odette called shrilly.

"Maman, it's a meeting, not a riot!"

"If something like what happened at Notre Dame happens again, what will I do without you?"

The young man gritted his teeth and rested his head on the doorjamb. "You two go ahead before you're late. I'll try to persuade her."

' _He's not going to follow,'_ Eponine realized as she went in to fetch her pelisse, her hat, and her gloves. "Citizenness Stendhal?" she asked, seeing Odette looking forlornly out the window.

"You're well cared for. As for my son and I..." the woman trailed off before shaking her head and taking a few deep breaths. "You'd better go. I'll see you tomorrow."

Eponine swallowed hard before mumbling her thanks and quitting the house. She saw that Prouvaire's expression was grave even as they walked down the street. "She wasn't always like that, was she?" she asked after a few moments.

"She was more...forthcoming, when her husband was still alive. Hopefully it's just the grief," Prouvaire said sadly. "It's all in Emile's hands; there's nothing we can do."

'I s'pose there's much they have to say to each other," Eponine concurred. She couldn't help but mull on this a little longer, at least until they came into sight of the Place du Pantheon. One of the houses nearby seemed to be the center of some activity. When Eponine drew nearer she could see the tell-tale red of Coutard's hair as he stood with a whole group of writers. The fuss was all about a man that Eponine recognized as Marcel Turpin, another  _Radicaux_  candidate.

The beleaguered man was standing on a box in an effort to make himself heard over the throng. A vein was already showing in his neck, and he was beginning to go red in the face. "It's  _not_  true that I am at all involved in the petition to have Citizen Paquet ousted. There is nothing to be gained from such a venture!" he shouted over the queries of a belligerent journalist.

"Then why haven't you openly come to support him then?" Coutard asked rudely.

"I do not wish to worsen any more rifts in the party," Turpin answered curtly. "I have only chosen to distance myself from the meeting simply because I respect Citizen Paquet's imminent decision."

"He's lying," Prouvaire muttered through gritted teeth. He waved to a pair trying to make their way to the door of the house. "Combeferre! Claudine!"

"We were just about to look for you in the house," Combeferre said by way of greeting as he and Claudine hurried over. "Who told you about this meeting?"

Prouvaire glanced warily at Eponine. "Gavroche."

Eponine's jaw dropped. "What!"

"Said that someone told him outside the schoolhouse and said to find me," Prouvaire explained.

' _Probably whoever it was gave him some sous to do it,'_ Eponine thought ruefully. She only hoped now that this meeting would end early enough for her to meet her brothers at the schoolhouse, or even perhaps to allow her to return to the Rue des Macons. She hung back as Combeferre and Prouvaire began discussing some point of literature in education. After a moment she looked at Claudine. "How goes it with you?"

Claudine smiled as she gave Combeferre a sidelong glance. "Well enough," she said before drawing Eponine aside. "It's not exactly as it was between us. I haven't completely forgiven him yet," she explained in an undertone.

Eponine stared at her friend in astonishment. "But why not?" I know he's forgiven you, otherwise he never would have gone to speak with you!"

"What Francois will do is more telling than anything he can say," Claudine said. "You'll understand some time soon, Eponine."

' _What does she mean?'_ Eponine wondered, biting her lip as she watched her friends. It did seem to her that Combeferre and Claudine were as cordial and outspoken with each other as they had always been, but at least that was in public. She pulled her pelisse more tightly around her as she watched her friends; there had been a time that even her own parents had been this affectionate with each other. Would her friends go the same way? She shivered as she looked around, hoping that they could somehow gain admittance to the house. She squinted at the sight of a fiacre rushing up to the curb, stopping a few paces away from the house.

"Bahorel!" Combeferre shouted to one of the people alighting from the carriage. He paused when he saw that his friend had a lady with him. "Citizenness Perrot, am I correct?"

"Therese Perrot," the woman said with a slight giggle. "I remember you. Citizen Francois Combeferre. And of course, you, Claudine." She gripped Bahorel's arm firmly. "Damien, will you stop fidgeting that way? An impatient colt has more manners!"

"Because this report is urgent, and only Citizen Turpin is around to receive it," Bahorel said, holding up a sealed envelope. He scowled as Coutard ran up to them. "No, Coutard. Not yet for you. You'll have to wait for the candidates to read it first, or get your copy from the Department of Surveillance."

Coutard cursed in Occitan. "If it will save people's lives, it has to be known right away!"

"As it is, making it  _too_  public may cause more panic," Bahorel retorted before managing to signal to Turpin, who then got off his makeshift platform.

Turpin's hands were shaking as he walked up to the group. "Are those the results of the investigation?"

"Yes. The Surete is acting on it even as we speak," Bahorel replied, handing over the envelope before trying to wave Coutard off again. "The threat is from without, not from within," he added once Coutard was away.

Turpin blanched. " _Emigres!"_

Bahorel merely smiled cryptically at his friends' uneasy expressions. "It at the very least exonerates the candidates of all the parties. None of them are linked to what happened at Notre Dame."

Turpin sighed and kissed the envelope. "That sets my mind at ease. I want to read this...but give it to Citizen Paquet first. He is at a meeting inside with the others."

"How much longer will they be meeting?" Combeferre asked.

"I do not know."

Bahorel chewed the inside of his cheek, at least till Therese petulantly elbowed him. He frowned before kissing the top of her head. "A moment first," he said to her. He then nodded to Eponine. "You should know. Montparnasse has been wounded."

Eponine's eyes widened. "How?"

"Some sort of attack." Bahorel signed for her to draw nearer. "Citizen Valjean somehow found him and gave him a place to recover. Apparently he has an apartment at the Rue de l'Ouest."

"Can he receive visitors?"

"I wouldn't advise that. He's in a delicate way. Joly will see him later," Bahorel said. "He's in good hands; we owe him at least that much."

"I never thought you'd say that about someone like him," Eponine whispered, understanding now what Montparnasse must have done to earn such a violent turn. Bahorel only laughed before having to attend to Therese again, who was half-dragging him off to speak with someone else.

Eponine looked around and almost laughed when she saw that Prouvaire, Combeferre, and Claudine were now trying to reason with a rather petulant Coutard. ' _I do hope Enjolras is not having such troubles,'_ she thought as she made her way past a group of writers and the rather distracted porter. She found herself standing in a rather deserted front hall, but she could hear the vague murmur of a discussion at the second storey. As quietly as she could she tiptoed upstairs and found herself standing in a narrow, meandering corridor. The half-light bouncing off the dingy walls gave the hallway a rather eerie air, but Eponine steeled herself to follow the voices anyway, more so when she heard the sound of a door opening and footsteps filing out from a room. She ducked into an alcove when she caught sight of Paquet walking by with a petulant expression on his face. ' _He'd throw me out I'm sure,'_ Eponine thought as she waited for him to enter another room before she continued her search.

After a moment, she finally caught sight of Enjolras standing near a window at the end of the hall. Even though he was a little more pallid than usual and there were shadows under his eyes, the young man's countenance was otherwise rather unruffled as he read intently through some documents.

After a moment Enjolras glanced up from his reading and smiled. "Eponine."

"I'm not getting in the way, am I?" she asked.

"Not at all. We're taking a short respite from the meeting," he said. "I'm sorry this interrupted your work, again."

"Citizenness Stendhal did not mind  _my_  going. By the way, Bahorel is downstairs with news about the investigation; you ought to ask him about it," Eponine said with a grin as she went to him. She looked at him keenly, trying to guess what had transpired just a few minutes before. "Citizen Turpin is downstairs, he refuses to come up. Is Citizen Paquet being awful again?"

"He's only being more vocal about some differences," Enjolras replied a little tersely as he set aside what he'd been reading. "It's nothing for you to be concerned about."

She shook her head even as she began to absent-mindedly straighten out his cuffs. "You need me here. Tell me how I can help you. I don't want to see you so troubled."

"There isn't much you could do. You cannot argue with Citizen Paquet this time around."

"Then tell me at least a little about it. Maybe I could help figure out something."

Enjolras paused, his expression turning much more serious. "He has asked for me and some others to withdraw from the campaign."

Eponine shook her head with disbelief. "I didn't think he could go that far!"

"He has his views, and he will fight for them as he sees fit."

Eponine looked him in the eye as she reached for his hand. "You're not going to back down though. I know it."

"I have no intention of quitting," he said resolutely as he ran his thumb over her ink-stained knuckles.

She shivered slightly, though his hand was warm against hers. "Is that what you've been arguing about for such a long time?"

"It is also since Jeanne and Blanchard are standing their ground."

"How could they not, especially with you?"

"I am only lucky that we agree more than we disagree," he pointed out dryly. He reached into his coat pocket and brought out a small package wrapped n brown paper. "I want to give this to you in person," he said as he handed it to her.

" _Probably something new for me to read,'_ Eponine thought as she tore off the wrapping to reveal a small book with a plain maroon cover. Her eyes widened with astonishment as she flipped through the crisp yet blank pages. "Is this really for me?"

"Yes. I am sure you'll find some use for it," he said. "You always ask for books on other people's thoughts. It's about time you had a place to set down some of your own."

Eponine grinned as she looked through the notebook again. For a moment she thought of asking if she would have to pay him back for the cost of the pocket book, but she decided against it when she realized that he was not even bothering to hide the smile tugging at his lips. "Thank you, Antoine."

Enjolras looked down, at least till the sound of a door swinging open cut through the silence. He raised an eyebrow before looking at Eponine again. "We're not alone," he mouthed.

She nodded, carefully hiding the notebook in her pelisse. "I should go."

"There is a back stairway; you can find it if you go back, turn left, and then right," he instructed in an undertone. "Till later, Eponine."

"You too, Enjolras." She waited for him to return to the meeting room before she fled down the hall, locating the stairway just as she'd been instructed to. As soon as she got to the bottom of the stairs she held on to the banister and shut her eyes, desperately trying to ignore the feeling of her heart racing. ' _Who else might have heard that?'_ she wondered as she reached into her pelisse for the notebook, trying to convince herself that it had really been given to her. After a few moments she made her way to the house's front hall, and managed to slip out unnoticed through the still ongoing clamour.

Eponine bit her lip as she stood on tiptoe, trying to locate her friends. After a few moments she noticed a familiar red waistcoat in the crowd. "Grantaire! What are you doing here?" she called to him.

Grantaire wheeled around and signed for her to be quiet. "I'm in the service of Hermes and Clio. So are they," he said, gesturing to the other writers.

She paused to make sense of Grantaire's words. "You're a journalist now? For what?"

"An insignificant epic; the Oresteia beside the Iliad," Grantaire said.

"Come on, how long?"

"Five days after the meeting at the Musain."

"And you never said so before?"

"I feared my muse would desert me," Grantaire confessed. He looked about for a moment before rubbing his hands. "The others will know soon enough. Don't tell Enjolras though."

She looked at him confusedly. "Why not?"

"Because then it will be as good as if I'd drunk out of the Lethe. He'll know when it's time," Grantaire said in a firm, yet pleading tone. ."Eponine, this is necessary. It is an odyssey of sorts."

She nodded slowly. ' _Maybe he'll stay sober enough to outlast all the bets on him,'_ she thought. "You're not publishing under the name Grantaire, aren't you?"

"Not at all. Look for the name Hebert the Second," he replied.

' _Maybe I have come across some of his work before,'_ she thought. "Oh. Are you working with Coutard?" she asked after a moment.

"I'm in a little bit of a duel with him." He smirked when he saw her laugh at this. "He treats his pen as if it were a rapier."

"Poised against who?" Eponine asked. She breathed a sigh of relief when she at last caught sight of Therese's blue fichu next to Bahorel's scarlet coat. "You should join us after this meeting is done."

Grantaire scoffed. "I'm not tallying the exploits of Ares. However if you're all interested in finding some good chicken today, I know a new place not far from the Sorbonne."

"Don't you always?" she quipped. She noticed that there was a fuss by the front doorway of the house. ' _What's Citizen Paquet going to say?'_ she wondered, noticing the professor there. He was holding the same envelope that Bahorel had showed to Turpin not half an hour ago. The other candidates were nowhere in sight.

Paquet stood on the same makeshift platform that Turpin had used earlier. "The investigation of the Department of Surveillance has proven my theory correct: the  _Radicaux_  party is completely innocent with regard to the incident at Notre Dame," he announced, holding up the envelope. "The perpetrators are elements who seek to disrupt the elections and consequently the party's agenda-"

Eponine craned her neck and saw that Bahorel was suddenly livid. She grabbed Grantaire's arm and half-dragged him towards where Therese was trying to hold back Bahorel from running forward. "Damien, he's not worth it! You can write a rebuttal later and tell the entire story!" Therese said, managing to grab Bahorel by the back of his coat.

"He needs to be exposed for what he is, for more than just his selective retelling," Bahorel retorted. "All of that posturing, when everyone knows that he did not lift a finger during the barricades-"

"Are you going to do it right here?"

"What better place is there for it?"

Therese let go of him but stood right in his path. "You're going to go about it in a civilized way, or you'll be just as horrid as he is."

Bahorel muttered something but he stopped when he saw Eponine and Grantaire. "Did you hear what that old statue said?" he asked.

"Every word and we guessed what he didn't say," Grantaire answered solemnly. "Ah, Pygmalion's wonder again, he's speaking once more-"

Eponine groaned when she realized that Paquet had yet to quit the platform, and was once again waving his hands for order. "It is also not true that I am pressuring the candidates in my party to withdraw their candidacies. Unfortunately due to the incident at Notre Dame, Citizen Turpin has withdrawn and the rest have been entertaining it," Paquet told an elderly writer. He had to shout to make himself heard over the ensuing din. "We are working for the same cause and it would be foolish for me to turn away my allies, my brothers. If they choose to withdraw, it is of their own accord, and certainly for reasons I will respect. "

"Then it would be in Citizen Paquet's interest, as well as the common interest to make this clear: there will be no withdrawals. The rest of us will continue the race, and Citizen Turpin is welcome to return when he wishes," Enjolras announced from where he was now standing at the front of the crowd.

Paquet gave him a look of pure hatred as cheers and applause rang through the crowd. "You were out of turn, boy."

"It would have been necessary to make the rest of our positions clear, without any further delay," Enjolras replied, not wavering under his fellow candidate's glare.

Paquet cursed loudly but stopped when he saw that Jeanne and Blanchard were also now in the crowd of journalists. He gave Enjolras a last withering look before retreating into the house and slamming the door so forcefully that it shook.

Bahorel and Therese looked at each other quizzically before bursting out into laughter. "It seems as if Apollo might risk being banished to Tartarus," Grantaire said after a moment.

"Capital R, I think  _that_  would be a mercy, with the way Citizen Paquet looked at him!" Eponine exclaimed before hurrying after them to meet Enjolras in the middle of the ensuing hubbub.


	41. Ghosts and Truths

**Chapter 41: Ghosts and Truths**

"I doubt even you expected Citizen Paquet to simply walk away from the debacle."

"Yes, but does he have to be so  _obtrusive?_  The only good result is that he is rapidly falling into public disfavour. Soon there will not be a need for a petition for him to withdraw  _his_ own candidacy."

Enjolras merely shrugged at Courfeyrac's remark as they crossed the Place St. Sulpice. "All the same it cannot be denied that Citizen Paquet has done a great deal for the Republic. He was instrumental in turning many people's sympathies prior to General Lamarque's death, and he has contributed valuable insights to the drafting of the Constitution," he pointed out.

"A fine job he's doing of upholding it," Courfeyrac scoffed, crumpling up an already tattered newsletter containing a manifesto from Paquet. "If he could, he'd use his written vitriol to censor all thoughts that contradict his, especially from within the party."

' _As would any tyrant,'_ Enjolras mused as he rubbed his hands briskly in order to force some warmth into his fingers. Over the past few days, as January faded into February, an unusually bitter chill had seized the city.  _'The price of coal will start rising if this weather keeps up,'_ he noted as he looked up at the gray afternoon sky, checking for any sign of an impending snowstorm. As he walked, he brought a sealed letter out from his pocket and opened it up. ' _It's good to hear that Citizen Tholomyes is safe in Toulouse, but hopefully he'll be inclined to tell us a little more about the situation there,'_ he thought as he quickly read through the note he'd received earlier in the day before he stashed it in his satchel of papers. Although he had not been able to entertain Tholomyes in the last days of the latter's stay in Paris, he had gathered that the attorney was now exiling himself from the capital in order to 'live with a little less unrest.' Enjolras couldn't help but wonder if this was due to politics or to some adverse turn when it came to his relations with the Pontmercys.

Courfeyrac glanced over at the note that Enjolras was reading. "That fortunate fellow skipped the nobility of being a father, and will now enjoy the office of being a grandfather," he said wryly. "As for me, I have yet to agree with Paulette as to names."

"What do you have in mind?"

"I prefer the name 'Dominique', but she says it reminds her of an old enemy. She's partial to the name 'Armand' since that was the name of her brother."

"At least you still have a few more months to settle the question," Enjolras reassured him. He paused to watch a stout figure running pell-mell across the street. "Good day, Foulon, is something the matter?" he called.

Alain Foulon nearly tripped on a dangling bootlace as he came to a stop. Judging by the rumpled state of his clothing, he had been running quite a long way. "Hello Enjolras, Courfeyrac. What are you two doing here?" he asked as he tried to catch his breath.

"Waiting for Combeferre," Courfeyrac said, gesturing to the lean-to. "Do take a pause; you look more winded than the stoves, my friend."

Foulon nodded quickly as he loosened his cravat. "Running a few errands. Just as well though that I saw you both; I have a confession to make." He wiped his face with his hands before continuing. "I heard from a lady, who heard from your concierge, that you got a letter in invisible ink?"

"I did. But what do you have to do with it?" Enjolras asked.

Foulon reddened further. "I think I know how they came about it...the sender at least. Meaning how they knew how to send it to you," he said slowly.

Enjolras raised an eyebrow. "I'm not sure I follow."

"You probably remember that I was helping Combeferre with his invisible ink experiment," Foulon said, eliciting a wide grin from Courfeyrac. "I wrote down some of the details into my pocketbook; I promised Combeferre I'd research a little more to improve on the formula." The polytechnician twiddled his thumbs nervously. "Unfortunately your name was towards the top of that note, Enjolras."

Enjolras nodded, already beginning to guess where this story was leading. "What happened to that particular pocketbook?"

"I left it in the house of someone..." Foulon trailed off. "Emile Stendhal. There. He tried looking for it but apparently his father misplaced it or tossed it out. It was so long ago; I saw him today actually but there's no use asking him now about it. There were a lot of odd folk visiting then, so maybe one of them might have found it and passed on the secret."

"It is possible," Enjolras said. "Though there are other equally likely ways that the sender could have decided on that particular idea."

"It's the only story I could think of," Foulon admitted. "I'm really sorry about this; it's caused you and so many people so much trouble."

"It is not your fault, Foulon," Courfeyrac chimed in reassuringly.

"At any rate the Surete is investigating some leads; it is probable that they acquired their invisible ink through other means," Enjolras pointed out. "The reason for using such correspondence is weightier than the actual means."

Foulon nodded, relief now becoming evident on his face. "Thank you. By the way what is this I hear that Joly is finally getting married to that beautiful lady Panchetta-"

"You mean Musichetta," Courfeyrac said mirthfully. "Yes, she has managed to convince him to tie the knot with her."

"I thought you'd be deploring such a thing," Foulon pointed out.

Enjolras shook his head as his friends began discussing similar developments among their acquaintances and detractors. Then again, it was better than making conjectures over matters that still warranted investigation. After a few moments he heard the church bells tolling the hour; it was about five in the afternoon. ' _Three hours till dinner at the Cafe Bon Vivant,'_ he thought. He knew that Joly and Musichetta would never let him hear the end of it if he even contemplated missing their celebratory dinner. "As amusing as your conversation is, I have to absent myself from it. My apologies."

Courfeyrac wiggled his eyebrows. "A rendezvous you have to make then, prior to dinner?"

"I'm only going back to the Rue Jean Jacques Rousseau."

"That is what I meant."

"I have to at least set down my work someplace safe," Enjolras deadpanned.

Courfeyrac merely grinned mischievously. "We'll see you later then."

Enjolras nodded before taking his leave and heading in the general direction of the Luxembourg, which he would have to circumvent in order to get home; the promenade was far too crowded even in the middle of winter. As he was walking towards the Rue Saint Dominique, he heard someone call his name. He turned and caught sight of Eponine walking quickly towards him. He had to blink and take a deep breath; for a moment he'd seen her as she appeared in his nightmares lately, wearing a bloodied pelisse over a torn dress, while her face contorted with agony. When he blinked again, he saw that she was now in front of him, in a maroon dress that was mostly covered by a dark blue pelisse. Her slightly quizzical expression brightened into a smile when his eyes met hers.

"Were you only going home just now?" she asked him cheerily as she took another step, closing the distance between them. She paused to tuck a stray strand of auburn hair behind her ear. "You mustn't forget we have to be at the Cafe Bon Vivant later."

"I remember," he said, lightly touching her elbow. "Where are you going this time?"

"Rue de L'Ouest. Musichetta told me that Joly said I could go there today."

His eyes narrowed as he realized what she was doing. "That is not a safe visit to make, Eponine."

"Montparnasse would not hurt me on a good day of his, what more of now?" Eponine scoffed. "I am sure he took a step out of line or even helped out Bahorel in some way, that's why he got hurt."

"Perhaps it was another reason, like an old grudge?"

She shook her head. "People do not go after a wolf unless they have a very good reason to, like snapping at something they'd rather keep safe. I want to know what he's about. I am sure you want to know too."

"Yes, but through other means."

"Enjolras, are you coming with me or not?"

' _Two are always safer than one in these situations,'_ Enjolras reminded himself as he and Eponine walked away from the Rue Saint Dominique. Perhaps they would still be safe after all considering that Montparnasse was somehow under Jean Valjean's care; it was unlikely the assassin would try anything in these circumstances.

"I have something that you ought to look at too," Eponine said after a while, breaking the comfortable silence. She pulled something out of her pocket; Enjolras recognized it as the notebook he'd given her. There were some loose leaves of foolscap trapped between the pages. "One of Combeferre's friends, Citizen Foulon, took this letter off an officer and went to Stendhal's today to have it translated. There's something legal about it, so I went to the Marais to get it done. It was good that Marius and Cosette were there today; I was worried they might have gone out. Cosette looks very well now and she says she feels less ill nowadays."

"So you asked Pontmercy to translate it," Enjolras clarified.

She nodded as she handed the foolscap sheets to him. "I s'pose you ought to read it when we're not in the street. Marius looked very nervous about what he read, and he wouldn't even explain it to Cosette when she asked about it."

' _Perhaps that is why Foulon was so harried,'_ Enjolras thought as he carefully tucked the papers in his waistcoat pocket. "Thank you, Eponine. Did Foulon say where the officer was from?"

"I don't remember. He can't be that difficult to find though; the officer I mean, not Citizen Foulon. How many regiments are there stationed in Paris?"

"The one at the Rue Babylone is the only permanent one, at least as of this month." It was the only regiment Enjolras had encountered in the course of the campaign.

"Legislators don't have much to do with the army, do they?"

"Not directly. Laws can be made to allow or forbid changes, and legislators also have a say as to whether France can go to war or not. Other than that, there is little an official can do. Why do you ask?"

Eponine shrugged. "I only wanted to know. Why would that letter be something a lawyer would read?"

"It is likely to be regarding litigation or a legal contract," Enjolras suggested as they came into sight of Jean Valjean's house at the Rue de L'Ouest. He could see a light in the third floor window of this dwelling. At that moment he happened to glance at Eponine, who was humming while fiddling with the hem of one of her gloves. It seemed as if her usual gaiety was now mingled with an air of wistfulness that was not entirely unfamiliar. He looked away before she could notice his gaze, but at the last moment he saw her brow furrow, as if she had been intending to speak to him, but now had to decide otherwise. Since he was unwilling to make any more conjectures, he knocked twice on the carriage gate of the house.

It was Jean Valjean who met them there. He nodded by way of recognition. "Montparnasse has been expecting you both."

"Both? How is he?" Enjolras asked.

"He's sitting up. I've advised him against leaving this place for a few more days, not till some more things become clearer," Jean Valjean said seriously as he put on his hat and coat. "Leave the passkey with Toussaint upstairs when you go."

When the pair arrived on the third floor, they found Montparnasse sitting on the edge of a bed, wearing a loosely buttoned waistcoat over his shirt. His left arm was in a sling, and a bandage swathed the crown of his head. He smiled grimly at Enjolras and Eponine. "You two didn't come with any policemen to arrest me?"

"The jails still make poor infirmaries," Enjolras deadpanned as he pulled up a chair for Eponine and then one for himself. ' _I must be mad for talking so openly with a man who would have gladly slit my throat a few months ago,'_ he told himself as he set down his satchel of papers. Nevertheless he looked Montparnasse in the eye. "What happened?"

"You can probably already guess; an attack in an alley," Montparnasse retorted. "I know, you want to know why I would be accosted," he said to Eponine.

"There is always a reason in Pantin," Eponine replied.

The assassin took a deep breath and winced, clutching his side momentarily. "Panchaud escaped. He wanted a little assistance, but Babet had his suspicions. He sent me down to meet with Panchaud but he wasn't alone."

"Who did he have with him?" Enjolras asked.

"Some familiar faces; the Surete already knows. You handed over to them one of their interpreters, Citizenness Allen. She is their link in the prison since she gets letters," Montparnasse said, shooting a glance at Eponine. "Of course, there is a newcomer too," he added in a low voice.

"Did he wear an army uniform or speak English?" Eponine inquired.

"No one would be a fool enough to wear a uniform to such a meeting, and I heard no English," Montparnasse retorted more brusquely. He swung his legs back up on the bed and propped himself up against the headboard. "How much more do you want to know?"

"Montparnasse, we are not here to negotiate," Enjolras said sternly.

"She knows nothing in Pantin comes free," Montparnasse said, eyeing Eponine again.

"I could run out on the streets and tell them. I know things: who you killed, who you robbed, even the time you almost killed me and Enjolras outside the house," Eponine pointed out, her good hand balling into a fist.

Montparnasse smirked at her. "You wouldn't."

Eponine inched closer. "I could. It would be easier though to just talk you into it or perhaps persuade you more forcefully. I may be smaller than you, but today you can barely move."

Enjolras gripped Eponine's shoulder firmly to warn her. She smirked at him and rolled her eyes. "You know I'm right."

"Theoretically," he said. He looked at Montparnasse again. "You have been given a safe haven here. Your continued safety will depend on your cooperation, since it will only be a matter of time till you will be discovered even in this place. The information you give will allow the Surete to capture the perpetrators and keep them away from your path as well as ours."

Montparnasse's lip curled in a sneer. "I could simply disappear. All I need is a situation, away perhaps from Paris."

Eponine snorted quite audibly. "I cannot imagine you as a peasant. After all you tried to be a dandy."

"I could survive just as well in another city," Montparnasse said.

"Neither of us has any intention of helping arrange your disappearance from the reach of the law, but preserving your life is of importance. Consider that," Enjolras answered. ' _If he will be caught for his crimes, it will be by his own doing, another day,'_ he decided silently.

Montparnasse looked down before shooting a suspicious glance at Eponine. "You do not even know who to talk to."

"I could find my father. I'm sure he'd be glad to assist me if I offered something," Eponine said, crossing her arms.

"You  _still_  wouldn't."

"You have to remember, I could have screamed at the Rue Plumet and had you all locked up."

Montparnasse's face darkened with obvious mortification. "You wouldn't be so bold if you were alone again, Eponine," he muttered.

Enjolras cleared his throat. "That was in the past. Then, you could run and defend yourself. Today it is apparent you are in no shape to do so."

The assassin grunted as he shifted position in an attempt to get comfortable before making eye contact with Enjolras. "The man you seek came from Calais. He arrived there from a place called Dover. He introduced himself as  _Monsieur_  Magnon."

Eponine started. "But all the Magnons are gone or are in prison."

"Not all. That house was only broken up by the smallpox. You of course know the oldest one, Suzette. The younger ones scattered. There was an uncle though. That is the one who returned to Paris some time after Lamarque's funeral. He has friends in various places, and he was trying to find ways to contact them discreetly. I believe you intercepted one of his messages."

Eponine paled. "Citizen Ravigard's book?"

"Yes. It was for a rendezvous in the south. No connections with any recent events here in Paris."

"That still does not explain how you got attacked," Enjolras said.

"I was helping Babet get away," Montparnasse replied. "I do not know if he did. I couldn't see before I blacked out. Next thing I knew, Citizen Valjean found me. Your friend Citizen Bahorel has been in charge of finding out the rest of the matter."

"Babet probably is fine, or somehow we would have heard of it," Eponine remarked. "Did he have anything at all to do with what happened at Notre Dame? I saw him there."

"Not at all. He refused to help attack the debate though he was asked to," Montparnasse said. He smiled cruelly as Eponine's jaw dropped. "He tried to warn you to stay out of trouble."

The girl blanched for a few moments. "I didn't really know what he meant," she said.

"He was not aware as to the exact details of the plan, only that there was to be trouble."

Enjolras looked at Eponine and saw that she'd clenched her fists again. "It probably was out of concern for you. It's the only logical explanation," he pointed out calmly.

"I s'pose, but he really was being terribly vague," she answered, not sounding entirely convinced. She looked towards where Toussaint was peering into the room a little warily. "I'll go see what she needs," she said in a whisper before springing up from her chair and going to talk to the older woman.

Montparnasse laughed softly to himself as he watched her leave. "She's prettier now. That hasn't taken off any of that sass of hers."

Enjolras decided not to dignify this remark. Surprisingly it took more effort not to glare at the dandy. "Thank you for your assistance, Montparnasse," he said after a while.

"I am capable of being civil," Montparnasse said mildly. He used his uninjured arm to adjust his sling. "At least she's taking decent care of Gavroche and those two other boys. Acting a little more sensibly, more than her father ever could. For her sake and the boys' sake, I hope that lasts." A smile played on his lips as he looked at Enjolras. "The best of luck to you, and that is not just with the elections."

Before Enjolras could comment on this, Eponine returned to the room, carrying a large bowl of stew and some bread. "Toussaint is seeing to the rest of your dinner," she said to Montparnasse. She touched Enjolras' wrist. "We have to meet the others."

"Yes. That is unless you have any more questions?" Enjolras replied as he reached for his satchel.

Eponine shook her head as she adjusted the blanket strewn across Montparnasse's bed. "I always knew you were a good boy, Montparnasse. Thank you," she said.

Montparnasse smiled wryly at her. "Don't you forget it."

She took a deep breath. "You'll be fine now."

"Not if everyone is after me."

"At the very least you will live," Enjolras said to Montparnasse. It was the most he could safely promise the former assassin at this point in time. ' _He may not be able to return to the streets once he gets back to his feet,'_ he realized as he waited for Eponine to give the passkey to Toussaint.

Once they were back outside, Eponine bit her lip as she fiddled with her gloves. "I s'pose next time I see Babet, I ought to thank him," she murmured.

"Hopefully it will be under better circumstances," Enjolras said.

"He was always something of a gentleman," she concurred. She looked at him crossly as they began walking. "I can't believe though that you agreed with Montparnasse."

"I am not one to disagree with someone who has a number of good points to make, even if in the past he has been very hostile," Enjolras answered. "He and your other friends may have other surprises yet."

"Maybe. I don't know what they could do."

"I thought they were friends of yours, in a way."

She shook her head. "For most of them, I was just the lookout and the innkeeper's daughter. I wasn't anyone much of consequence unless my father insisted so," she pointed out. She bit her lip and stuck her hands in her pockets. "Though I s'pose you're right somehow. If they wanted to cause real trouble, they could have done it some time ago and none of us would be the wiser for it. I s'pose that is something to be thankful for."

"You cannot afford to turn old allies into enemies. Not now," he said, looking her in the face.

She cocked her head and smiled bemusedly. "You've probably done the same before."

"With regrets," Enjolras admitted, remembering some past disagreements and even his present rift with Paquet. ' _It's a lesson that one never learns properly unless there is experience involved,'_ he mused. He could only hope that the cost would not be dear in Eponine's case. He felt her slip a hand around the crook of his elbow as they walked, again in silence.

In a few minutes they arrived at the Cafe Bon Vivant, which was brightly lit for the occasion. . Even from outside the cafe they could hear the roar of laughter mixed with various groans and exclamations. "Are they reciting something?" Eponine asked Enjolras confusedly.

"I am not sure I want to know what it is," Enjolras said, already dreading the possible content of such a performance; he didn't put it past some of his friends to recite some particularly racy or outrageous pieces in honor of their newly engaged companions. The fact that he could see Bahorel holding up a sort of pamphlet was not particularly comforting. He had to keep a straight face as he pushed the door open. "Good evening everyone," he greeted politely.

Bossuet, who was busy refilling his tumbler of brandy, looked up and whistled to them. "You two need to hear this!" he said over the greetings of the rest of the group. "Someone has just written us the most spectacular fiction yet!"

"You mean the filthiest pieces of slander for everyone who has been involved in the campaign," Musichetta chimed in, disgust evident in her voice. "Calling all of us pox-ridden libertines who get drunk on talk of liberty!"

"The only part I take exception to is the pox!" Grantaire exclaimed, raising a tumbler of water.

"And the incident with me, Bahorel, and Stendhal on the Rue de Enfer," Prouvaire chimed in.

"This isn't one of those satires that have been going around?" Eponine asked warily as she took a seat.

"We  _wish_  it was, Eponine," Claudine replied despondently. "Are you going to keep reading that out, Bahorel?" she asked.

Bahorel frowned as he looked through the pamphlet. "The rest of the items are too lurid," he said, setting down the paper. "Especially those about the two of you, Combeferre, and Claudine."

"That was mean, they called me a simpleton," Azelma whined before Prouvaire pulled her close to whisper something in her ear. .

"What did they say about you?" Eponine asked Claudine and Combeferre.

Combeferre shrugged and muttered something about 'eccentric' while Claudine squeezed his hand. "They were rather scathing about our affiliations," Combeferre explained.

"Scathing is an understatement. It was describing me as  _Paquet's_  mistress!" Claudine retorted, shaking with revulsion. "If my father hears of this, it could kill him."

Enjolras managed to get the pamphlet before Eponine could reach for it. It was a plain volume, its only title being the words:  _February 1833_ , written by ' _The Friends of Liberty'._ Almost immediately he wished he had not looked into its contents. Aside from the overall description of their entire group as dissipated rakes and libertines, there were some rather specific accusations calling into question everything from their origins in the Midi to their respective occupations and romantic liaisons. ' _For some people this would be grounds for a duel,'_ he thought. He shook his head on seeing what was written about him, dubbing him a 'catamite,' 'blood drinker' and 'degenerate Jacobin'.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and he noticed Eponine trying to get a look at the pamphlet. "What did they say about you and me?" she asked.

Enjolras located Eponine's name in the midst of a long paragraph. The sentences that leapt out there were so incredulous that he had to read them twice. ' _Although it seems that initially Citizen Paquet was planning to be unyielding with regard to his stance on the women's publications, his doubts were easily dispelled when Citizenness Thenardier negotiated with him, of course privately and away from the Place du Pantheon. Of course he did not know at that time that she had negotiated in a similarly compromising fashion with the rest of the candidates of the Radicaux party. It would appear that Citizenness Thenardier has been skilled in this form of negotiation, having practiced it as a profession before her becoming involved in publications.'_ He felt his blood run cold as he read through the rest of the write-up, describing Eponine as a conniver with her origins in the lowest portions of Paris, with at least one illegitimate child to her name.

He felt Eponine's nails digging into his shoulder. "I can't believe it. They even wrote my brothers into it!" she hissed.

"None of those accusations are true," he said, looking at her as he put down the book.

She laughed bitterly. "You forget who I am."

He shook his head. "Was."

She sat down and gave him a sidelong glance. "I s'pose I can only hope more people aside from you can think that some day."

"Some of these accusations do  _have_  to be answered right away, especially those about the ladies and the children," Courfeyrac concurred. "I'm sorry we have to talk about this during your engagement dinner," he said to Joly and Musichetta.

"It's necessary," Musichetta said. "Better now than tomorrow morning, when that pamphlet will be all over Paris."

"Most of it is just all made up," Leonor said, her brow furrowing as she reached for a glass of wine. "Let them fall over their own idiocy.

"We know it's made up, but a lot of other people are not aware of that," Combeferre pointed out. "This can have an adverse effect on Enjolras' campaign, obviously, as well as the chances for some of us to participate in public affairs."

"Not to mention some of us  _could_  lose our jobs if our employers believe this," Feuilly added.

Grantaire belched loudly. "So how to attack Troy..."

"Grantaire, not now," Joly groaned, rubbing his temples. "Be straight about it."

"I'd duel the writer myself," Eponine muttered. Nearby, Courfeyrac and Paulette exchanged knowing looks, Bossuet's grip tightened around his tumbler of brandy, while Prouvaire muttered something in Azelma's ear. Bahorel cracked his knuckles till Therese took his hands and laid them flat on the table.

Enjolras looked at his friends for a long moment, waiting for anyone to say something more. The merriment had dissipated after this sordid turn in the conversation, and he could almost feel the tension in the air. After a moment, he closed the pamphlet and found a seat of his own. "The last thing we need to do here is act rashly. Otherwise it will only lend more weight to these accusations. Whoever wrote it will be expecting some vitriolic reply or an outburst, maybe even a direct confrontation," he began, shooting a glance at Eponine, then at Bahorel and Courfeyrac. He knew that given any opportunity, these three would be the first to make a rejoinder against this publication.

"We could ask for a public retraction of the statements," Claudine suggested.

"If we can. It is a onetime publication, most likely," Combeferre pointed out. "They will not release another volume, most likely."

"Unless compelled to," Claudine said with a shrug. "We could bring them up on defamation charges."

"That will take too long," Eponine muttered. "We could find out what they are about, and write about it. Everyone has something to hide."

Prouvaire cleared his throat despite the murmurs and nods of his friends. "It would make us as guilty as they are," he said seriously. "We can't whiten a wall by throwing ink on it."

"Unless we properly debunked some of these accusations by telling the truth of who we are. Pasts, where we came from, where we actually stand," Leonor said seriously. "What? Is that any worse than what they wrote?"

"Some of us would rather  _not_  talk about our pasts," Feuilly muttered.

"Yours isn't much of a problem; I don't see why you should be ashamed of having come from Marseilles," Leonor retorted, nearly slamming her wine glass on the table. She frowned and threw down a handkerchief to wipe up some spilled wine.

"None of us should be compelled to reveal more about our pasts than necessary," Enjolras answered, noticing the uneasy looks passing between Eponine, Feuilly, Joly, Bossuet, Grantaire, Azelma, Musichetta, and Paulette.

"I have to reply to it, for the sake of my father's health," Claudine remarked after a few moments. "This time, I'm  _asking_  your help, Francois," she said to Combeferre.

Combeferre nodded. "Glad to give it. You're welcome."

Leonor elbowed Feuilly, who shook his head. She gave him an exasperated look before glancing at Eponine scornfully. "Still planning murder?"

"Who says I'd duel them with a weapon?" Eponine retorted.

"But what are you going to do?" Enjolras asked her.

"Write something about me and my brothers. I have to somehow prove they aren't my sons."

"Ah. That definitely was a line that should never have been crossed," he agreed.

"It might be good to prove that they aren't  _your_  sons either," Leonor said, smirking at Enjolras.

Eponine cursed under her breath. "I didn't even know him till last year."

"Also, that was uncalled for," Enjolras warned Leonor. He gritted his teeth, now that he was as desperate as Eponine to finally end this conversation topic. ' _We've had enough unwelcome revelations for one day.'_

Leonor glanced apologetically at Feuilly before looking again at her friends. "I'm only stating what was said in that pamphlet too," she pointed out.

"I think we've had enough of this for one evening," Musichetta said, her deep eyes narrowing for a moment as she picked up the pamphlet and then stowed it under a leg of a wobbly table. "There, that's enough for now."

"Won't you burn it?" Joly asked, wiping his spectacles.

"We'll need it as evidence later," Musichetta replied with a grin. "As far as I'm concerned, whoever wrote this made a declaration of war. None of us will simply sit back and watch."


	42. On Questions Best Not Considered

_A/N: Time to really curse my muse for this. These characters are eating space in my head!_

**Chapter 42: On Questions Best Not Considered**

As far as Eponine was concerned, the front office at the Stendhals' house had an uncanny way of turning silent at the most inconvenient times, such as when she was on the brink of falling asleep over her work. ' _Maybe we should have left the cafe a little earlier last night,'_ she couldn't help thinking as she pinched her wrist in order to keep from dozing off atop some lists and catalogues she'd been recopying. There had been a time not too long ago when, after a long night on the streets, she could curl up on the floor of a hovel and shut her eyes for a few minutes. She shook her head to clear away the memories as she picked up her pen again to return to work. It helped that the sun was out, dispelling the early February gloom from the quiet house.

She couldn't help but hum a little impatiently as she worked, occasionally sneaking glances at the clock if only to will the hours to move faster. Today it took all her self-control not to abandon the lists for the little notebook she'd set down at one corner of the desk. ' _I need to get the truth out before those writers can come up with something worse,'_ she told herself as she finally reached for the pocketbook and opened it to the article she'd begun drafting almost as soon as she'd arrived home from the Cafe Bon Vivant. Her brow furrowed as she crossed out a wayward word, and then tried to add in a phrase in the margins. "Why can't I get it to come out  _right_  the first time, like the others do?" she muttered.

A knock sounded on the door, nearly making Eponine fall out of her seat as she turned around sharply to take a look at who was there. "Grantaire! You shouldn't do that!" she scolded him lightly.

"It's a shame to interrupt a Muse at work," Grantaire quipped. He noisily pulled up a chair near to her desk. "You said last night that I was to meet you here?"

"Yes. I need you to take a look at something I wrote, because of what happened last night," she explained as she indicated the notebook.

Grantaire nodded slowly. "You are even readier than Antigone. What exactly do you need my help for?"

"Because you're a journalist and you know what people want to read," Eponine said as she handed the notebook to Grantaire.

The skeptic whistled as he opened the notebook to a dog-eared page. "Couldn't you have asked Enjolras or Combeferre?"

"Enjolras is off at Chaillot this morning, and I think Combeferre and Claudine are busy with something today." she explained. She waited for him to finish reading before she spoke again. "I don't s'pose it doesn't need to be very long, even if the story spans years."

"You haven't been at Troy for a decade, so there's no need to rival Homer," Grantaire said, winking teasingly. "I didn't know that Gavroche was actually five years younger than you are."

"He is rather tiny, isn't he? I hope he won't take after my father in that way," Eponine remarked. ' _Then again they say that boys take longer to get taller than girls do, so maybe there's hope for him yet,'_ she mused as she wiped up some ink smudges from her desk. "Did I say enough? I didn't explain everything about why my brothers were living with La Magnon since that would only be suspicious."

Grantaire scratched his nose. "How are you going to explain how you lived in Paris before the barricades last year? People will ask about your family."

"I s'pose I could say I lived with my parents in the area of the Salpetriere," Eponine said, knowing that this was the best she could do to provide an address. "My brothers lived in the Rue Clocheperce. My mother brought them there when Jacques was about two, I think. That was not long after we came to Paris. Now there's no way of really properly explaining that story other than we couldn't have fed them. That was why a family friend took them in," she added quickly. ' _For a price of course.'_

"I think it will do, if you also add that you had no prior acquaintance with Enjolras or any other gentleman from the  _Radicaux_  party until last year," Grantaire replied, handing the notebook back. "That way people can see that it is illogical for you to have had a child at this point."

She nodded slowly. ' _Is this how Citizen Valjean felt when he had to explain a bit more about Cosette's life?'_ Eponine wondered as she read her work again. "I hope that Enjolras doesn't lose the election because of this, because of all the things people are saying," she whispered.

"He won't. He's got a reputation for virtue and good sense. I think it will hold out," he said cheerily. He made a bow to someone walking up to the office door. "Good day to you, Hecuba."

"Grantaire, don't call her that!" Eponine hissed. She looked embarrassedly at Odette. "I'm sorry about that. Citizen Grantaire, wait do you know him already, just likes to talk of mythology."

Odette frowned at Grantaire. "I remember you. My son says you are always at the Musain," she said coldly as she adjusted the black mantua she wore over her dress.

"It was an occupation of sorts, Citizenness," Grantaire replied, grinning widely.

"I hope you've found more gainful employment since then," Odette sniffed. She threw a nervous glance at the clock. "Where is Emile? He should be back by now from the Invalides, unless he's gotten into some accident or fallen sick along the way-"

"Can Icarus grow wings?" Grantaire quipped.

Odette made an 'hmph!' sound before going to the window. "Oh thank Jesus, there he is!" she whispered before going to greet her son. "Emile, you had me worried!" she scolded. "Don't you ever take so long again, you hear me?"

"Maman, I walked," Emile said wearily as he took off his hat and his coat. "Like you told me to, just to save on some francs."

Grantaire chuckled as he listened to Odette haranguing Emile. "So shall I take that article of yours to the printers soon?" he asked Eponine.

"Yes, when I've recopied it of course. Should only take me less than hour," Eponine replied. She waited for Odette to storm out of the room after yanking on Emile's ear. "What happened?" she asked worriedly, making sure to keep her voice low.

"The oddest thing," Emile said, looking around before sitting atop a stack of books and running his hands through his sweaty hair. "I was being followed by a fellow in green glasses and a large cloak. I thought he was some bohemian writer at first, till I realized he was right on my tail even when I was headed down to the Place St. Sulpice. I had to shake him off. So I tramped through the Luxembourg a bit till I saw that he was gone."

Grantaire snorted. "You sure it wasn't one of your friends up to a recitation again?"

Emile's pallid face turned a deep red. "That's the last time I'm ever letting Prouvaire take me to one of his readings."

"Did you get a good look at his face?" Eponine asked. ' _What if it's Babet or my father?'_ she wondered.

Emile shook his head. "Anyway I had the feeling I wasn't supposed to lead him here-"he began before suddenly turning deathly pale. "He's still found me!" he gasped, pointing to the window.

Eponine bolted to the front office window and saw a tall shape standing across the street. The clothes and frame of this man were unknown to her, but she could see the furtive way he seemed to be surveying the neighbourhood. Quickly she ran back to her desk and retrieved her notebook and her pistols. "The back door," she whispered. "Quietly, or he might start looking about too."

"Who  _is_  he?" Emile stammered.

"I do not want to know," Eponine replied as Emile fled the room to fetch his mother. She saw Grantaire hurry to the stove in the hall and pick up a poker from there. "What are you going to do with that?"

"Did I ever tell you I play singlesticks?"

She shook her head, even as she heard Odette shriek with shock and outrage. "That's given it all away!" she hissed, quickly locking the house's front door and shoving her chair against it for good measure. It was just as well; at that moment she saw the man on the street start to walk towards the house. She and Grantaire ran to where Emile was trying to pull the rusty bolts on a warped door. Odette was crossing herself frantically with one hand and clutching at her son with the other.

Suddenly the doorknob began rattling and Odette would have screamed if Grantaire had not covered her mouth. "This door is useless!" Emile cursed. He looked about frantically for another exit and then shook his head. "There's no other way out."

Grantaire gestured to a window and tried to push it open. "It's frozen," he muttered over the louder rattling of the doorknob.

"Oh hurry, do something or he will be in here in a moment!" Odette begged.

Grantaire picked up the poker. "Better Scylla than Charybdis," he said, motioning for the rest of the group to step back before he swung at the windowpane.

"How am I going to fix that?" Odette wailed.

"I s'pose we'll think of something later!" Eponine muttered even as Emile climbed out first so he could help Odette through the small window. She heard a shot ring out and she saw splinters raining from the front door. ' _Please let him be alone!'_ she begged silently as she climbed out the window next, and then pulled Grantaire after her. They were now standing in a cramped alley that opened out on the Rue de Sorbonne. The smells of mud and stagnant gutter water were thick in the air, undisturbed by the rising midmorning breeze.

"Where should we go?" Emile whispered. He had one arm around Odette, who seemed to be on the verge of collapse.

"Home," Eponine said, knowing better than to mention the name of the street where she lived. She knew that Combeferre and Claudine were still likely to be on the premises, and even if they happened to be absent, Citizenness Leclair would be able to calm down Odette. She raced out of the alley, hoping to find a fiacre in order to allow them to leave undetected. She bit back a curse on seeing that the only available vehicle for hire was a cabriolet, one far too small for all of them. ' _I s'pose we have to go the long way about,'_ she thought, already dreading the thought of having to deal with the crowds that were sure to be milling about the vicinity of the Sorbonne at this hour.

When she arrived back in the alley, she saw that Odette had fainted away, and it was all that Grantaire could do to help Emile support his mother's dead weight. "It's too cold for her to walk the entire way," Emile said fearfully.

Eponine swallowed hard before fumbling in her pelisse for her passkey. "Combeferre should still be there. He'll know what to do," she said, handing the key to Emile.

"And where will you go?" Emile asked as they began carrying Odette out of the alley.

"The printers," Eponine replied, shooting a glance at Grantaire. ' _Maybe that should be enough to shake that fellow,'_ she decided as they managed to get Odette into the cabriolet. She waited for the carriage to reach the corner of the Rue de Sorbonne before she looked at Grantaire. "Is it far off?"

"Not particularly," Grantaire said. "It's no walk to Tartarus, at least."

Eponine rubbed her hands together for warmth. "I hope we won't be followed there either," she muttered as they began walking. It was all she could do not to keep one hand on a pistol as they arrived at the street corner. Not surprisingly, the man with green spectacles was nowhere to be found. ' _That doesn't mean he doesn't have eyes someplace,'_  she thought as she quickly followed Grantaire down several streets, towards the Place du Pantheon, where some of the smaller gazettes had set up shop. Grantaire introduced Eponine to some of the younger journalists there before finding a place where she could make a clean copy of her article so that it could be given to one of the editors within the day. By noon, they made their way back to the Rue Jean Jacques Rousseau.

Jacques met them at the door, holding their cat, Camille. "That noisy little lady is looking for you," he said to his sister.

"Don't say that,  _petit_. I work for her!"Eponine chided him lightly as she picked him up while the cat jumped onto her shoulder. She saw that Neville was ambling over to a window, teetering a little thanks to a wooden foot he was trying on. He was holding what seemed to be a piece of glass. "What have you got there?" she asked Neville.

"Combeferre made it. He said I could have it," Neville said, holding up the glass to the light.

Eponine's eyes widened as she surveyed her friend's creation. The glass seemed to be covered with a sort of bluish paint that did not completely block out the light. It threw a strange greenish hue onto her brother's face. "It's to hide something, I s'pose," she remarked.

"Actually we meant it more for spectacles," Claudine called as she went downstairs to join them.

"What sort of spectacles?" Eponine asked.

"For people who have some certain eye troubles. Francois and I are writing an article to send to the journals and the  _Moniteur,"_ Claudine said proudly as Neville hobbled over to hand back the glass.

Eponine grinned, realizing what this was all about. "You'd get your name out again, for a much better reason now."

"I like to think so," Claudine said with a smile. She handed Eponine's passkey back to her. "Citizenness Stendhal is upstairs now. Francois is watching her since she's complaining of an ache in her chest. Citizenness Leclair and Gavroche have gone to the apothecary to get some medicines."

The younger woman sighed as she set down Jacques, who ran to the kitchen, with Grantaire following suit moments after. Eponine also had to pry her cat off her shoulder and hand the feline to Neville. "We had a terrible fright," Eponine said before explaining what had transpired at the Rue des Macons. "I think it has to do with what Citizen Stendhal was supposed to translate yesterday," she finished.

"What was it?"

"Something legal. That is why I had Marius help me instead before I gave it to Enjolras. He hasn't mentioned yet what it was all about."

"Speaking of him, you missed him by maybe a quarter of an hour," Claudine said with a bemused grin.

Eponine's jaw dropped for a moment, even as she felt a twinge of disappointment. "I thought he'd be off at meetings; he said so when he came down for breakfast today."

"He actually just came to drop off some books and papers. He and Francois mentioned some documents he was intending to get translated as soon as he could."

Eponine shook her head. "That won't do," she said, running to Enjolras' room, only to find that he'd locked the door. ' _He probably took his passkey with him,'_ she thought, trying the knob again.

Claudine hurried upstairs and returned a few moments later with a crooked metal bar. "Try this. My father made it for me before. I use it sometimes when I can't find my passkey," she said.

Eponine stuck the bar into the lock and twisted it a few times till she felt the lock give. She quickly walked over to Enjolras' desk, which had several stacks of books and papers on it. ' _He probably doesn't sleep anymore if he has to read this much,'_ she thought as she picked up a folder that was on top of one of the stacks. She bit her lip on seeing a whole sheaf of papers written in English. ' _Maybe we should have learned more of it when we were trying to chase that Citizenness Allen,'_ she mused. After this she found a pen and a loose leaf of paper to write a note, in the unlikely event that Enjolras returned to this room any time within the next few hours.

Claudine watched her silently. "Will he really allow you to do that?" she asked after a while.

"No, but he'll know why," Eponine said firmly before racing upstairs, to the half-open door of Combeferre's room. She peered in and saw Combeferre and Emile quietly watching Odette, who was in bed with the blankets drawn up to her chin. "Is she..."

"She'll be fine," Combeferre said, motioning for her to sit. "All she needs is rest. You've had a close escape today."

"It has to do with the papers that Foulon had," Emile groaned. He blanched when he saw that Eponine had a folder with her. "Now where is that from?"

"Enjolras. Actually he doesn't know I have it at present, obviously. But he'll need it soon enough. Could you please take a look at it?" Eponine asked.

Combeferre raised an eyebrow. "How did you get into his room?" He shook his head when he caught sight of Claudine holding up the pick she'd lent to Eponine. "Now which of us will have the unenviable task of explaining this to him later?"

"I did, in a note," Eponine replied.

Meanwhile Emile was looking through the documents. He shook his head as he carefully separated a few pages. "Some of these are fairly straightforward; I could do this. The others look like legal communications of some sort. I can't touch them without misconstruing them."

Combeferre crossed his arms. "You can't translate something in fragments," he pointed out. "Perhaps you can work with another translator, Stendhal?"

"If he worked with Marius..." Eponine wondered. She brushed some dirt off her gloves. "We have to go to the Marais today."

"Now?" Emile spluttered.

"When then? The sooner we can finish this, the sooner we can maybe forget about these papers, well if it is possible," Eponine said. She bit her lip, considering the probability that their mysterious assailant would turn up at the Rue Jean Jacques Rousseau within the next few days. ' _What if he figures out that the papers from Foulon are with Enjolras?'_  she wondered, feeling a pit of dread grow in her stomach at the thought of hearing or finding that the assailant decided to find him. Somehow she'd have to warn him at some point, at least once she knew more about what was going on.

Claudine had pocketed the pick again and taken a seat next to Combeferre. "Who now has the papers Foulon gave you?"

"Enjolras. When he left this morning, he had them with him," Eponine explained. Had it not been for the dire situation, she might have smiled just the recollection of having seen him in the morning. ' _It had been good to talk with him for a little bit,'_ she thought.

"Did you have any other important or compromising papers with you at the Rue des Macons?" Claudine asked after a moment.

"Contracts, some literature, but nothing political," Emile replied. "Nothing of interest to a would-be-burglar, if that is what you're asking. Maman and I don't have much in the way of other valuables."

"It is possible though that the burglar or whoever it was might think that the documents from yesterday were taken to the Surete, the Hotel de Ville or someplace else," Claudine suggested.

"Let's hope that is the case. In the meantime we'd better prepare for any contingency," Combeferre said resignedly. He looked at Claudine. "As soon as we can, let's move the glass to your house at Picpus."

Claudine nodded. "We have more room there anyhow."

"How long have you been working on it anyway?" Eponine asked.

"Some years now; it was only last November that we finally got the formulation right for making a more permanent tinted surface," Combeferre explained, sounding a little more enthused. "We've had to keep it a secret, for the sake of Citizenness Leclair's nerves and the health of Citizen Andreas."

"Father will be happy to know about it now, if he sees there's some practical application for it," Claudine said. She looked sympathetically at Emile. "I know it's a hard time now, my friend, but we need your help. We'll take care of your mother, I promise."

Emile shook his head. "She'll want me to be here when she wakes up."

"I understand. At the same time it would also be useful if we could set the cause of her agitation to rest, as soon as possible," Combeferre said. "Please, Stendhal. We'll take full responsibility. You won't have to regret it, I promise you."

Emile swallowed hard and nodded slowly. "Please be here when Citizenness Thenardier and I return," he begged Combeferre.

"We will. Even if you both return here at midnight," Combeferre said. "I heard Grantaire's voice in the kitchen. Perhaps he should accompany you both. Take a fiacre too for good measure."

"Combeferre..." Eponine protested but she saw him already rifling his drawers for some francs. "I can't take it..."

"We have to ensure your safety," Combeferre replied firmly as he and Claudine handed over several five franc pieces, enough for the journey to the Marais and back. He glanced to where Grantaire had now appeared in the doorway. "Are you up to another journey, Capital R?"

Grantaire nodded. "Anything to avoid vapors."

"Well we're going to visit the Pontmercys. Some more translation work," Eponine explained.

"I knew there was one Muse missing, one for the translation between various tongues," Grantaire quipped as he jauntily adjusted his cravat. "The scope of the Greeks was far too limited; no mortal ever ascended Olympus to take an encompassing view of the rest."

Eponine sighed at the beginning of this ramble. "You can tell us more about it later in the fiacre," she said agitatedly to Grantaire before quitting the room. There was far too much going on for her to simply sit still and listen now. Fortunately it did not take long to find a fiacre, and soon they were on their way to the Rue des Filles du Calvaire.

When they arrived, Nicolette immediately showed them in the drawing room, where Cosette was passing the afternoon. Instead of having a novel or some publication with her, as she often did while waiting for company, Cosette was poring over a battered looking ledger. She was a little pale, perhaps from the winter, but everything else about her was fresh and radiant. "Eponine, you might want to take a look at this if you've got the time. You too, Grantaire," she said eagerly to her friends. "Papa has showed me and Marius a bit more about the business he had at Montreuil-sur-mer. I think I could try to help someone with that, maybe in addition to putting up that place for gamins."

"I s'pose you could, you should," Eponine said distractedly. "I'd love to hear about it, Cosette; you could ask me to come over one day for it. But today I need to talk to Marius."

Cosette glanced down at the folder Eponine was carrying. "More translations?"

"Yes, one that my friend here can't do on his own since it's quite long," Eponine explained before introducing Emile to Cosette.

Cosette nodded. "He's in his study." She walked ahead out of the drawing room and over to Marius' study. "Marius darling, I hate to interrupt you," she said after knocking on the door. "But it is urgent."

In a moment Marius was at the doorway of his study. "I could hear you all from outside," he said, rubbing his temples. He blinked at Eponine, Grantaire, and Emile, and a look of comprehension spread across his face. "Where do you keep finding these documents, Eponine?" he asked worriedly.

"I didn't find them, Enjolras did," Eponine said innocently before handing over the folder. "Do you and Citizen Stendhal know each other?"

Marius looked at Emile for a moment. "I knew your father, Citizen," he said.

"You did?" Emile asked, looking agog.

"I did a bit of work with him, for a time," Marius replied, showing them into his study. He frowned as he flipped through some of the papers. "Enjolras will need to take this up with the consul or some diplomat when he finishes reading this. Yesterday was a disturbingly confidential document; personal affairs actually of someone in command. It is more for the Surete's worst spies than the likes of us. Today it's just some laws and official communications with Lord Melbourne, England's present Home Secretary," he said as he put the documents on his desk and showed his friends to some chairs.

"I gathered as much, which was why I did not want to translate them on my own," Emile confessed.

Grantaire smirked as he dusted off his boots before plopping down in an armchair. "To think Enjolras plans to actually read at least most of it," he muttered. "Helios will need to lengthen his passage through the sky."

"I s'pose he'd find it easier to manage if he was handling a few cases now, but it's towards the end of the campaign and I know we have one last big gathering, right before the elections. He'll be so busy then," Eponine concurred grimly. She bit her lip as she glanced at the clock; it was now around three in the afternoon. ' _If Enjolras decides to stop by home again for supper, I hope I'll be there to explain the matter to him,'_ she thought as she listened to her friends at work. After a few minutes she was about to get up to rejoin Cosette in the drawing room, but before she could excuse herself, Basque knocked on the study door.

"Your cousin Lieutenant Gillenormand is here," Basque announced to Marius.

"Tell my aunt. I shall entertain him when I am through with business. Extend my apologies, please," Marius said, looking up from a difficult paragraph.

Eponine had to sit on her hands at this mention of Theodule. ' _Should I tell him I'm here?'_ she wondered, more so when she heard his voice conversing with Basque in the hall. After all she had yet to find out in person what he had to say about her letter to him.

Basque returned to the room after a moment. "Citizenness Thenardier, Lieutenant Gillenormand asked if he could speak with you."

Eponine nodded. "He can," she said, aware of the worried looks that Marius and Grantaire were throwing in her direction. "It probably won't be long," she said to them before smoothing down her blue dress and heading out into the hall.

She paused to consider Theodule, who was admiring a painting on the wall. ' _How can he keep those moustaches orderly in this weather?'_ she wondered. As usual he was in his lancer's uniform, only that he seemed to have given his coat a good brushing and gone to the trouble of blacking his boots.

"Good day Theodule. This is quite a surprise," she said, nodding to him when he looked her way.

The lancer bowed to her. "You look very well."

"As do you," she said, stepping towards him. "Why didn't you call at my house again? Musichetta shouldn't have turned you away."

"Unfortunately I've been rather busy; it is only now I have had the opportunity to speak with you. You know how demanding military work can be," Theodule said. He coughed before looking at her intently. "I heard that lately you've been the target of some rather scandalous rumors. I am sure you are aware of what this can do to your reputation."

Eponine crossed her arms. "Well what does it have to do with you?" she asked curtly.

Theodule reached for both of her hands. "I have the solution to help you there. Something that would surely improve your situation." He lifted her right hand to his lips. "Eponine Thenardier, what do you say to marrying me?"

Her eyes widened as she took in these words. "Did...did I hear you right?"

"You did. You should become my wife."

She stared at him in shock as she pulled away from his grip. "You think you could ask that after you've been away for so long?"

"I told you, I was in Dijon. I even invited you to join me there, if you remember," Theodule said.

She gritted her teeth. "You know why I couldn't accept. You only come when you are not busy. You never ask about anything about me or my siblings or even my friends. Any other woman would think that you are not interested!"

"I've always cared for you, Eponine. I am not one of those foolish dandies and rakes. You know that I do not pay any specific attention to a woman unless I have serious intentions towards her," Theodule said. "I only ask that you consider the earnestness of my suit-"

"I would if I  _did_  know what to consider!"

He gripped her by her shoulders. "My grandfather Gillenormand does not have any particular regard for me. Apparently nor do my cousins. It is only my aunt who considers me good company. All I have is my regiment. As for you, this city has scorned you. All that politicking, to what end? You were even being talked about in Dijon. I could bring you away, help you forget it all."

Eponine tried to pull away but she found herself being held fast. She gritted her teeth as she looked Theodule in the eye. "If that is what you think of me, then you ought to let me know what you said in Dijon," she challenged.

"Does it matter?"

"I think it does."

Theodule smiled at her. "I said that once I returned to Paris, to find you, you'd soon have a reason to give up politics and this mad campaign."

Her jaw dropped as she slapped at his hands. "A mad campaign? You think I could give it up so easily?"

"Why not?"

"Because I actually like doing something useful. You wouldn't say that if you knew what I've been up to instead of just hearing of it," she seethed. "You think I could simply forget it all?"

"You'd have a family; you'd be my wife, a mother if that is what you wish. All you'd have to worry about is keeping our home in order. You'd have no reason to concern yourself with all of this trouble. You'd be well taken care of."

She let out a dismayed laugh. "You think I'm still such a silly. I look out well for myself, and my brothers."

"Aside from them and your sister, you're alone in the world. It's not fitting for a woman to be in your situation," he argued.

"Well if that is what you believe, nothing has changed between us!" she exclaimed, finally shoving him away. "Meaning that I will certainly  _not_  marry you!"

He stared at her for a long moment before suddenly grabbing her hands and pulling her against him. "Come now, Eponine, don't be foolish-"he said in her ear.

She no longer heard his voice; all she had was the feeling of stifling, as if it was suddenly almost difficult to breathe. It was not as warm or as safe as the last time he'd kissed her, one rainy afternoon. She squirmed and managed to kick him, eliciting a yell of pain as he fell to his knees.

"My goodness, what is going on here?" the outraged voice of Marius' aunt, Citizenness Gillenormand, came from the top of the stairs. Eponine's eyes widened as she looked up at the older woman, and then around the anteroom. Cosette had already stepped out of the drawing room, while Marius, Emile, and Grantaire were at the door of the study. For a moment the only sound was that of Theodule's whimpers as he clutched at his groin.

"Aunt, I don't think we need to ask," Cosette said after a moment.

Eponine shook her head as she cast a grateful look at her friend. "I'm sorry, Citizen Gillenormand," she said, stepping aside to let Marius help his cousin to his feet.

Theodule glared at her. "You insolent girl."

"I thought you, of all people, would be a gentleman," she shot back. "Do I still have to show the point any further?"

"I think my cousin has had enough indignity for one day," Cosette chimed in. "You can stay in the drawing room; I'll have Basque get you something," she said to a still livid Theodule.

Meanwhile Citizenness Gillenormand had descended the stairs and was now eyeing the young people with a very stern, almost prudish look. "Such a lack of manners, really!" she hissed, going to help her nephew into the drawing room.

"Citizenness, he was the one who grabbed me first," Eponine said, not hiding her irritation. She saw Grantaire making a useless effort to prevent bursting out into laughter. "Don't you dare tell the others," she warned him.

"I am sure that Enjolras would want to hear it," Grantaire chortled.

" _Especially_  him!"

Cosette and Marius exchanged knowing smiles while Emile scratched his head. "So Citizen Enjolras is also acquainted with the lieutenant?" Emile clarified.

"That would be putting it kindly," Eponine replied as Citizenness Gillenormand closed the drawing room door, while Cosette went to summon Basque.

Marius nodded to Emile. "We still have a few more pages to translate; it's good that you came to help make the job faster," he said.

"Ah yes. The sooner we finish this the better," Emile said uncomfortably before following Marius back to the study.

Grantaire grinned as he nodded to Eponine. "I should congratulate you, Eponine."

"What's there to congratulate? I just turned down a marriage proposal, and unkindly at that," Eponine said, crossing her arms.

"For picking a better groom, that is," Grantaire replied, laughing all the more when she glared at him. "This is a far better tale than the Judgment of Paris, mark my word for it!"


	43. Necessary Meddling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras' side of the story. 
> 
> Thanks to Spirit of the Dawn for allowing me to use a plot point here.

_A/N: Thanks to Spirit of the Dawn for allowing me to use a certain development here in this plot._

**Chapter 43: Necessary Meddling**

"If I am not back here in Paris before April, Joly and Musichetta will never forgive me."

Enjolras couldn't help but smile as he watched Feuilly smooth out a slightly stained and very obviously manhandled letter. "On what day is your delegation set to leave for England?" he asked.

"The 21st. Hopefully the results of the elections will be released by then," Feuilly replied, giving Enjolras an elated grin. The fan maker took a deep breath to calm down before looking around the second floor hallway of the  _Radicaux_  headquarters near the Place du Pantheon. It was now about one in the afternoon, but the house still had yet to see its usual quota of visitors and meetings for the final days of the campaign. "I only wish that this trip would have been under better circumstances other than reworking our extradition policies," he added.

"It was something that would have to be done, sooner or later. If not with England, then with Prussia, Spain, and any interested neighbors" Enjolras said. ' _It's only because of this tenuous matter of the letter in the barracks, and what Montparnasse had to say about that contact from Dover,'_ he thought as he watched Feuilly reread the letter. "All the same, my congratulations to you for this assignment. This is an opportunity that is not to be missed."

"I'm only an assistant to the representatives. What do I know of diplomacy?"

"You are at least far more interested in it than most of us ever could be."

Feuilly chuckled wryly, leaning back in his seat. "It will be my first time leaving French soil, to possibly tread for a fortnight or more on a volcano. Leonor isn't entirely happy about it; she was hoping we'd go to Toulon to help out Coutard and some other friends with a pressing matter of education there."

"Either way, you would have to resign from the atelier."

"I did just that, yesterday in fact."

Enjolras' eyes widened with surprise. "Why so?"

"With Jeanne sure to win the election in his quartier, I need not worry about representation for the workers' groups; he will surely see to that," Feuilly explained. "I've been considering leaving that particular atelier for some time anyway."

The lawyer nodded understandingly, remembering that for some time now Feuilly had been rather reluctant to discuss matters related to his workplace. "I am confident that you will succeed with this venture," he said after a while.

"It is necessary, you mean," Feuilly pointed out. He looked to where Leonor was stepping out of another room, fiddling with the drawstring of a purse. "Once again, I'm sorry," he said, his face contrite.

Leonor frowned as she sat down next to him, and then nodded politely to Enjolras. "You should let me come with you next time, Gilles," she said to Feuilly.

"If it is possible," he said, rubbing the back of her neck. "I'm not the one who is in charge of making these diplomatic delegations.

Leonor shut her eyes and rubbed her nose between two fingertips. "I'll be terribly bored for a month, putting up with Coutard and the rest."

"Our other friends-"Feuilly began.

"Nothing like you," Leonor said firmly. "Do you know how difficult it really is to find someone who talks sense nowadays?"

Enjolras quickly took the opportunity to gather up his things and excuse himself to another room so he could resume his reading for a new case he'd taken on. ' _Then there's still the matter of the investigation concerning the barracks and the prisoners, but that will eventually be the Department of Surveillance's jurisdiction,'_ he reminded himself as he found a chair near one of the room's narrow windows. It would take him some time till he could finish making sense of all of the matter that had somehow come into his possession; in fact he intended to have another sheaf of documents translated to help corroborate what he'd learned from the letter Foulon had intercepted and Montparnasse's confession. He'd taken the particular precaution of leaving this folio at home, in order to minimize the risk of misplacing the documents or having them inadvertently fall into unscrupulous hands. As for the document from Foulon, he'd taken care to lock it in his desk at the Palais de Justice.

After some time he heard the door swing open. He looked up briefly to see Blanchard entering the room. "Have you seen Paquet?" Blanchard asked.

"Not yet. He's coming from a lecture at the university, so he may be delayed," Enjolras replied.

"Good. I was worried he'd start picking our speeches apart," Blanchard said, shutting the door. "It wouldn't trouble me if he wasn't the only pair of eyes doing the final editing and approvals prior to the last meeting on the day before the elections."

"He has no power over the final outcome, since he is no censor of events," Enjolras said. "If something happens there and then that has to be addressed, then speeches will be duly revised."

"Cheeky," Blanchard laughed. "I still don't know what to say to that slander he engineered, especially with his implication that I cheated with some of my cases," he added, bringing out a copy of the infamous pamphlet from the so-called 'Friends of Liberty'. "He made sure to implicate himself as well to deflect the attention from him."

' _Funny he should think that; the general opinion is that the other parties are behind the publication,'_ Enjolras thought as he put away the papers he'd been reading. "He has nothing _practical_  to gain from making those accusations; debasing his fellow candidates will not give him much of a party to preside over after the elections," he pointed out.

"Since you made it clear to everyone that he would not be able to ask us to withdraw from the race, he's just decided to act the bully. More like a schoolgirl than anything else," Blanchard scoffed. "Aren't you going to answer him back for it?"

"I am willing to vouch that the charges for the most part are slanderous, and I would help clear up some misconceptions if that is what is required to clear people's names. I hardly think though that my making a personal defense is necessary," Enjolras said. Naturally he was still annoyed at the contents of the pamphlet, but he had decided to refuse to dignify the accusations against his person. As far as he knew Eponine was the only one among his friends who had a public rebuttal in mind; it appeared as if Claudine and Combeferre had a scheme of their own, while the rest of them were either bent on ignoring the rumors altogether or were still coming up with their own forms of reply.

"Have you lost all your nerve now? Any other young man in your position would be ready to challenge the writers to a duel to address the personal affront, and even the one made to Citizenness Thenardier," Blanchard scolded sharply.

"A duel is precisely the sort of trouble the perpetrators want; I am not willing to indulge them there since it is not only an unnecessary loss of life and limb, it will also cement the reputation of our being hotheads and libertines."

"You have very little sense of gallantry, or you truly have little regard for your reputation."

"I am concerned not because of the existence of poor public opinion as a whole; it is inevitable for anyone in the political arena. Most of us in the party know that, and in fact some are willing to make their own replies to the charges," Enjolras said. "The wrong here is that some individuals who have little or nothing to do with this political situation have been maligned such as the youngest Thenardiers and a few other associates of our friends. They are not necessarily in any position to defend themselves."

Blanchard sighed deeply just as the door opened. He turned and his eyes narrowed as Paquet sauntered into the room. "I do hope you have an answer to this," he said threateningly to the newcomer.

Paquet sneered as he caught sight of the pamphlet Blanchard was brandishing. "I was expecting to ask you the exact same question, Blanchard."

"Why would I throw doubt on my own career?" Blanchard shouted. "This is not something you can palm off on us, Turpin, or any of the others from the other parties; we all have much more to deal with than your machinations."

"Why would I write myself as the lover of that bluestocking Claudine Andreas?" Paquet mocked, saying the woman's name as if it was a curse. He smirked as he looked at Enjolras. "So you're silent on this? Either it means you have a hand in this yourself, or there is some weight to those accusations after all."

Enjolras raised an eyebrow "Neither is true."

"You're an idiot. It is common knowledge that you and Eponine Thenardier live together, with three children running about. Now the two bigger boys are certainly her brothers, but what about the youngest, the one who I believe is named Jacques?" Paquet taunted. "You cannot say that she can attest to the facts. A former common thief will say anything. The Prefecture's records show that the girl was at  _Les Madelonntes_  a year ago."

"For charges which were dropped," Enjolras pointed out. He knew that Eponine was not completely innocent of any complicity in the ambuscade at the Gorbeau House, but he was also aware that she was acting under her father's orders and, at that time at least, below the age of discretion.

Paquet shook his head. "It is probably not the only crime she has committed; but the one she was actually implicated in. You are a fool to have taken her into your confidence."

Enjolras looked Paquet in the eye. "Now you are in the wrong."

Paquet's smile turned malicious moments before an ear-splitting shriek rent the air. The professor paled before going to the door. "What in heaven's name is that?" he bellowed into the hall.

"A doctor has finally come for the wounded man they brought in," a boy bawled. "Looks like a rather nasty operation underway, Citizen."

"What wounded man?" Blanchard asked.

Paquet relayed this question to the boy, who then peered in. It was none other than Navet. Navet waved at Enjolras. "Knew I'd find you here Citizen. It's that friend of yours, Citizen Foulon, who's downstairs," he said.

"What happened to him?" Enjolras inquired, already dreading what he would hear.

Navet pulled up his shirt to wipe some dirt off his face. "Some sort of attack, so they say."

Enjolras headed out of the room and followed Navet down to the first floor, to a small room that had served as a porter's lodge. Alain Foulon lay on a pallet, with a rag hastily stuffed between his teeth to muffle his yells as a doctor tended to an obviously fractured arm. Blood also covered his shirt and he had a cut across his brow. Alain's eyes widened when he saw Enjolras and he managed to spit out the gag. "Murder. It was an attempt at murder," he gasped.

"Save your strength," Enjolras said. He looked at the doctor tending to his friend. "What happened?"

"Apparently he dragged himself some way here; he was just found not even an hour ago," the doctor said. "He managed to staunch some of the bleeding himself but his arm needs to be set."

"It happened much earlier this morning. I don't know how long I was out," Alain murmured. He glared at the doctor. "The least you could do is make me comfortable."

"I haven't got anything," the doctor argued. "Citizen Enjolras, you need to leave."

Foulon waved him off with his good arm. "Your brandy isn't working," he growled at the doctor before looking at his friend. "Enjolras, you must know now, I did steal something, some time before I saw you and Courfeyrac."

"A letter from an officer, relating to international affairs," Enjolras said. "You brought it to the Stendhals, and it eventually made its way to me."

Foulon went very pale, from pain as well as from the fact that his subterfuge had been discovered. "It isn't the owner of that note who did this to me. Someone taller. A fellow with green spectacles and an absurd cloak. He had a gun but he didn't use it on me." He shrieked as the doctor manipulated his broken arm again. "He stole my effects, including my new pocketbook. The Stendhals' address was written there," he stammered.

"Are you suggesting-"

"He might go there next, since he found that the letter was not on me. He asked, I denied having it, you can guess the rest."

Enjolras nodded, trying not to betray the dread that welled up in him. "What you just said might save some lives today. Thank you. Now you'd better recover."

The doctor in the meantime had uncorked a flask of some drink. "I was hesitant to give you this; it's powerful stuff," he said to Foulon. "Once again, you have to leave," he told Enjolras more tersely.

"I will. Thank you for tending to him," Enjolras said. He stepped out and found Navet waiting outside. Somehow Navet had brought down his satchel. "Navet, are you familiar with the area of the Marais?" he asked the boy.

Navet nodded, handing over Enjolras' satchel. "Gavroche and I had pickings there before."

Enjolras found some paper and quickly made a note to Marius and Cosette, explaining succinctly the situation regarding Foulon and the papers, and ending with an advice to take the necessary precautions. Although it was a little unlikely that Foulon's would-be murderer would find out of Marius' part in translating the letter, Enjolras was not about to leave anything to chance. "Please carry this to the Rue des Filles du Calvaire. Number 6," he instructed Navet, handing the message with a five-franc piece. "That should help you part of the way. Use it wisely."

"I shan't need it for anything but brioche, but thank you," Navet said, saluting him before dashing out of the house.

By this time Enjolras could hear the sounds of a heated argument from upstairs, followed by Blanchard's footsteps as he stormed down the stairs. "I will have that brute unseated, if not before the elections, then after!" Blanchard seethed. "I'm not letting him read my speech for the last rally. Now where are you going? I saw that boy bring your things down before Paquet could think of taking a look."

"I have to make an urgent visit to the Rue des Macons," Enjolras said.

Blanchard's brow furrowed with confusion. "What for?"

"A matter of life and death," Enjolras said. ' _The less he knows, the better,'_ he decided as he quickly took his leave of the house and made his way towards the Rue des Macons. It was likely that he was too late, based on the fact that Foulon had been attacked much earlier in the day. Yet there was still the slim possibility that he would arrive there in time to avert the impending catastrophe.

Even as he approached the Stendhals' house, he could already tell something was wrong. There was no light in the windows and the door was hanging ajar. "Stendhal? Eponine?" he called, going to the door. He shook his head when he tested the door handle, and found that the lock had been destroyed, and that the door was also splintered in some places. He checked that his penknife was still in his pocket before he pushed the door open.

He had to blink a few times in order to allow his eyes to adjust to the unexpected gloom of the Stendhals' front hall. The air smelled rather moist, perhaps from the mud that had gotten tracked all over the place. A chair had been pushed into the hall, perhaps in an attempt to bar off the door. He peered into the front office and saw that the shelves were emptied and the drawers had been pulled out of the desks. Books and papers were strewn everywhere and ink was congealing in dark pools on the floor. A quick look at Eponine's usual desk was enough for him to note the absence of her guns as well as her pocketbook. ' _She must have still put up a fight somehow,'_ it occurred to him as he stepped back in into the front hall, listening in vain for any sign of life in the house.

As he went towards the backrooms, he saw the tell tale glistening of broken glass scattered on the floor. There were drops of blood on the woodwork and on some pieces of glass jutting out from the window frame. A piece of black fabric had somehow snagged on the window, but it was impossible for Enjolras to ascertain if it belonged to any of the occupants of the house. He carefully looked out into the alley behind the house and saw footprints there. Yet when he checked the backdoor, he found bloodstains on the handle but the locks and bolts there were still in place. He left his satchel in the front office before he hurried upstairs only to find nothing but the signs of someone ransacking the house.

He quickly went back downstairs and went around to the back alley of the Stendhals' house. Even here there were no signs of a struggle, but there were distinct footprints of at least one person who'd hurried in and out of the alley. In a pile of refuse he caught sight of a single pistol, apparently discarded after use, but there was no sign of any sort of gunfight occurring in the area. ' _What sort of struggle happened here then?'_ he wondered. Surely the neighbours might have noticed if any of the household was forcibly taken. Before he could exit the alley, he caught sight of a tall cloaked man briskly walking to the front door of the house.

The man stopped and looked in Enjolras' direction before quickly reaching into his pocket. Enjolras managed to jump back into the alley a split second before a shot rang out. He gritted his teeth on seeing that the ball had glanced off a piece of masonry just a few inches from his head, but nevertheless he ran after the gunman sprinting down the Rue de Sorbonne and towards the Place Saint-Michel. He saw the attacker push aside a customer leaving the Musain before leaping into a fiacre that had its identification number covered. A barrel of a musket poked out of the carriage window, letting out a warning shot that had all the bystanders scattering.

"Stop that carriage!" Enjolras shouted as the fiacre began rolling down the street. However a third shot forced even more of the onlookers to flee, allowing the vehicle to continue unhindered in the direction of the Place de l'Odeon.

Enjolras gritted his teeth as he took stock of his surroundings. The one mercy in this scenario was that no one had gotten hurt, but a good many people were startled and now beginning to talk in fearful whispers. ' _All this to catch an untraceable man and his colleagues,'_ he thought, knowing now that there was no way he could continue the chase alone.

"Citizen, he dropped this," a rag picker shouted to Enjolras, holding up what appeared to be a pair of broken spectacles. The lenses were a garish shade of green. "Didn't know that the Changer had these," he muttered.

"The Changer?" Enjolras asked perplexedly.

The rag picker suddenly paled. "Nothing, it was nothing." He relented when he saw Enjolras' stern expression. "He's a fellow who clothes some folk like that man who just ran off. Rue Beautreillis. That's where he sometimes is."

"How do you know that the man is associated with the Changer?"

"Because of the cloak, that one he had on. Those who know can't miss it."

Enjolras took the ruined spectacles, wondering if any of his friends could help him trace this Changer, as well as this odd optical acquisition. Before he could thank the rag picker, he saw that the man had slunk off to join his comrades at a drinking den. ' _What a way to learn about an enemy who can turn into a Proteus_ ,' he thought. The fiacre was untraceable owing to its number being painted over. Foulon had only been able to describe the spectacles. ' _I did at least see his nose and his thick lip, but no scars or anything distinctive,'_ he realized as he began making his way back to the Rue des Macons to retrieve the belongings he'd left there.

After this, he headed for the Rue Jean Jacques Rousseau, hoping to find Combeferre before he left for his night shift. All the while he tried not to picture what might have transpired at the Stendhals' house, knowing that this mysterious, formerly bespectacled attacker would surely have fired a shot with the intention to kill. Who had that single pistol been for? Perhaps it had been for the one person who could resist such a threat. He shut his eyes momentarily, willing himself not to remember his nightmares of what had happened to Eponine the last time she'd gotten into a fight.

When he arrived home, he could hear the usual sounds of Citizenness Leclair scolding the Thenardier boys in the kitchen as well as the meowing of the Thenardiers' cat. Despite this familiar hubbub, Enjolras made his way upstairs before the youngsters could notice his presence, knowing that he could not tell them yet that he had no idea as to their sister's whereabouts. Yet all the same he still could not help but half-expect to see Eponine emerging from her room or to find her reading on the stairs again. Somehow, the sight of the empty, silent second floor was disconcerting.

He found his door locked, but when he stepped into his room, he couldn't help but feel as if something was decidedly  _wrong_  about the place. He took a look at his desk and noticed that a particularly thick folio was missing from among his papers. ' _I'm pretty sure I set it down here,'_ he thought as he searched first his satchel, and then the area near his desk.

He heard the sounds of an argument upstairs followed by footsteps headed downstairs. "Enjolras? Are you there?" Combeferre's voice called concernedly.

"Yes. I only misplaced something."

"A folio of documents?" the physician asked, peering in the room. "You haven't seen Eponine's letter yet, have you?"

"She was here?" Enjolras asked incredulously.

"She, Grantaire, and the Stendhals arrived just after you left," Combeferre said.

Enjolras strode to his desk and saw that there, half-hidden under a blotter, was a single sheet of paper with these lines:

_Enjolras,_

_I took the documents from your desk and had them translated by Stendhal. There has been some trouble because of the letter from Foulon. No more time to lose. Will explain more of it when I see you._

_I'm sorry for breaking into your room._

_Eponine_

Enjolras' eyes widened as he reread the letter, his relief at seeing Eponine's handwriting now giving way to disbelief as to her act. "What happened?"

"The Stendhals came first. They had somehow escaped an attack at the Rue des Macons; a man trying to break in and carrying a gun. Odette had chest pains and was feeling faint, so Claudine and I attended to her. She's awake now. Eponine and Grantaire arrived after a while; they must have split up to throw the attacker off his trail," Combeferre explained.

"What was Grantaire doing there?'"

"Some errand of his own."

"I see. You told Eponine about the documents?"

"Actually I did," Claudine called from the top of the stairs. "I helped her pick the lock. My apologies for that, but we couldn't find your passkey."

"Since Stendhal couldn't translate it on his own, Eponine decided to get some help from Pontmercy. She, Stendhal, and Grantaire went to the Marais," Combeferre added.

Enjolras looked at his two friends, now aghast at their audacity. "This all happened right after I left?"

"Not even an hour. You have every right to be angry, but you have to admit that this might have saved you quite a bit of trouble," Combeferre replied.

"I understand, but that does not change the fact that this was through means that would be more than questionable in other situations," Enjolras pointed out. He heard a door open downstairs, followed by the hubbub of voices, Grantaire's voice ringing out loudly over the rest as he made his way to pester Citizenness Leclair in the kitchen. After a few moments, Emile Stendhal walked upstairs and mumbled his greetings uneasily before slinking up to Combeferre's room to see his mother.

Shortly after, Eponine made her appearance, her cheeks flushed with enthusiasm. "It's all done! I thought we'd have to stay there till past dinner but..." she began before realizing that Enjolras was already there. She swallowed hard as their eyes met. She held out the folder she'd taken from his room. "You read my note?"

"I did," Enjolras said firmly as he took the documents. It was difficult to look at her now; inasmuch as he was indignant at her breach of his privacy, he still could not deny that seeing her was enough to lift a weight from his shoulders. He waited to see if she'd drop her gaze but as he expected she did not waver. "Was this absolutely necessary?" he asked her slowly after a few moments.

"I thought it had to be done today, especially with what happened this morning. I know you wanted to have it translated yourself; you would have brought it over to Stendhal or someone else anyway, but there was no more time to wait. You have no time either." Eponine replied, her voice firm.

Enjolras sighed, unsure what to say to this reasoning, especially combined with Combeferre's earlier retort. ' _I cannot be an ingrate,'_ he reminded himself, looking first at Eponine, then at Combeferre and Claudine. At least it seemed that that their interference would likely have less dire consequences than that of Foulon's. "I'd rather that this sort of intrusion will not ever be repeated. There is no need to explain that. Nevertheless I appreciate the assistance, and the thought."

Combeferre nodded, with an expression that was more of acknowledgment and even slight approval than rancor. "Thank you for taking this well."

Enjolras smiled briefly, more so when he saw Eponine's expression of relief. It definitely felt easier to speak now. "The three of you must know that Alain Foulon was attacked today. That was most likely how the intruder arrived on the idea of going to the Rue des Macons," he said more seriously after a few moments. "He broke his arm but it seems most likely that he'll live."

Combeferre cursed while Claudine groaned at this news. Eponine shook her head. "He told?"

"He lost his pocketbook in the attack. The address was there," Enjolras explained. "I sent a letter to warn the Pontmercys also, just so they can prepare for any contingency."

Eponine swallowed hard. "That's why Navet came by too. Cosette gave him something to eat. I s'pose then that the man with the green spectacles, that one who came to the Rue des Macons, went through the papers in the office?."

"He did. I saw Foulon this afternoon and he told me to go to the Rue des Macons. By that time you were already gone and the place was ransacked," Enjolras explained. "Whoever it was though came back for something. I followed him as far as the Place Saint-Michel, where he dropped this and went off in a fiacre with the numbers covered," he added, bringing out the cracked green spectacles.

Eponine quickly took the spectacles from Enjolras and examined them intently "Something like what you've been doing?" she asked Combeferre.

"The paint serves a different purpose from the tint that Claudine and I have been experimenting with." Combeferre explained. "Our work is to try to manipulate light. This one is a disguise."

"He apparently also has done recent business with someone known as the Changer," Enjolras continued.

Eponine's jaw dropped "The Changer? That cloak then..." she trailed off. "I s'pose it could have been one of the Changer's cloaks after all."

"Who is the Changer anyway?" Claudine asked, crossing her arms.

"A sort of artist. He rents out fine clothes to people so that they can go places," Eponine explained. "I s'pose now you want to go look for him and ask questions too?"

"If necessary," Enjolras replied.

Eponine raised her eyebrows as an indignant yell came from Combeferre's room. Combeferre and Claudine exchanged a knowing look before hurrying up to confer with Emile, who was waiting anxiously at the door.

"I s'pose I'll have to help them out for the next few days," Eponine said bemusedly, trying to comb out her slightly dishevelled hair with her fingers. She waited for the door upstairs to shut before she spoke again. "I don't think we would have gotten out if it hadn't been for Grantaire."

"Why was he there?"

"I asked his help with something I wrote, to see if it was readable."

' _Probably something to do with mythological allusions,'_ Enjolras thought as he watched her take off her gloves. "Did you finish your article?'

"You might see it in print tomorrow," Eponine said, grinning proudly. She sighed when she looked at him again. "Enjolras; do you really want to know about the Changer?"

"Yes, if it will help shed light on this mystery," he replied. "Is he at the Rue Beautreillis?"

"Maybe. He might have moved though since people have been in and out of the jail," Eponine said. She grasped his arm firmly. "I know someone who might have done business with him lately."

"Montparnasse?"

She shook her head and laughed. "No, you silly. Montparnasse  _never_  has need for the Changer; he's always been too elegant for that." She tightened her grip on his arm. "I was talking about my father."

"I see," he said, managing to hide his distaste at the prospect of dealing with the conniving former innkeeper. "Do you know where to find him?"

"For that, I will have to ask Montparnasse. Tomorrow," she promised, beginning to search her pockets for the key to her own room. "I'll see you in a little while, at dinner."

Enjolras caught her hand before she could step away from him. The feel of her callused and scarred palm against his own somehow was enough to finally convince him that indeed, she had arrived back unscathed. "It's good to see you're safe, Eponine."

She smiled as she glanced down at their entwined fingers. "I'm glad you're home too," she said, squeezing his hand for a moment before going to her room.


	44. A Touch of Tartarus

**Chapter 44: A Touch of Tartarus**

' _I never thought the Champs-Elysee could look so terrible when the moon is gone,'_ Eponine mused as she glanced towards the tree-lined avenue and park to her right. She yawned before looking up at the inky black sky, where only a few stars winked out from behind a thick cover of cloud; she guessed it had to be about half-past five in the morning. It was already the tenth of February. ' _Papa should be on his way back under Pantin, or not so far deep at this time,'_ she thought as she slipped her gloved hands into the sleeves of her dark blue pelisse.

"Eponine, are you absolutely sure he'll be here?" Bahorel asked in a slightly drowsy undertone as he shook some dust off his frock coat, and then off his hat. "Feuilly and Azelma told me that this is quite an odd place to look for your father."

"This is the last place to go. We've spent the past few days searching everywhere else he could be; I think we've gone through nearly every hole in Paris," Eponine replied as she checked her pockets for her pistols, her notebook, and a small flask of liquor. Although Montparnasse had been rather forthcoming with giving a list of Thenardier's recent hideouts, it always seemed as if the former innkeeper was on the move, making locating him easier said than done.

She shivered before standing on tiptoe, looking to where Enjolras was carefully surveying the nearby riverbank. "It should be there, Enjolras. Montparnasse said this is the only place my father has the key for," she called to him.

"The outlet is in the shadows. It's not easy to see from the street," Enjolras said more discreetly as he walked back to the curb. His hair was well-hidden under a black hat and he wore a bulky greatcoat over his usual clothes. He carried a lantern with him, which he'd been using in his reconnaissance of the riverbank. Despite the early hour, he was the most alert of the trio. "If we are ambushed or met with some sort of trouble, we have to quit the quay and regroup at the Prefecture," he instructed.

"What if one of us is dragged in there?" Bahorel asked, cracking his knuckles.

" _Especially_  if one of us is dragged in there," Eponine chimed in tersely as she adjusted her hat. ' _That is how we'd be lured into a trap,'_ she thought as she walked past her friends and made her way down the steps leading to the riverbank. She paused as she watched the water rushing by, remembering how not so long ago, she'd thought of throwing herself into that murk. After a moment she looked over her shoulder to make sure that Enjolras and Bahorel were just behind her before going on towards a great rusty iron grating at the end of the bank.

She picked up a stone and flung it against the grating. " _Icacaille! Daron!"_ she shouted into the gloom. The argot felt rather foreign on her tongue after about half a year of not speaking it so openly. She crouched to get a better look at the grating, all the while trying to ignore the reek coming from the outlet. "Papa?"

Bahorel looked around at the sound of footsteps hurrying towards the riverbank. "Careful now!"

Eponine barely had time to turn before another shape materialized on the riverbank. This spindly newcomer was clad in a smock and a pair of long corduroy trousers, worn under a rather patched tailcoat. He had a grubby cap that barely covered his stringy hair. "Good morning Papa," she greeted.

The elder Thenardier sneered at his daughter. "So the grand Citizenness finally deigns to pay me a visit. How has the high life been treating you?"

"Not high but warm. What are you doing here, sleeping in such a place?" She smiled weakly as he her father sneered at her again. "Anyway I only meant to ask a question, Papa," she added, holding out the flask she'd brought.

Thenardier shook his head. "You're getting in my way. You and these two gents. I haven't a word to say to you, especially," he said, directing the last statement to Enjolras.

"It is an urgent matter, Citizen," Enjolras cut in sternly. "One that may be of life and death."

"If it's yours, it's none of my business."

Eponine stepped in front of her father such that she was now between him and the gate to the sewers. "You shan't go in there till we've talked a little. I didn't have a word to say with you last year, but this year I do," she said softly. "It's only a question about the Changer."

At the mention of this accomplice, Thenardier looked at his daughter with an expression resembling that of a predator appraising his prey. He snatched the flask out of her hand and took a hearty gulp of the brandy within. "What use do you have for that Jew?"

"Someone visited the Changer, and then tried to murder a whole lot of people. Like me," Eponine said. She waited for any sign of shock or surprise on her father's part, but all she saw was his raising a single eyebrow. "Papa, you know that the Changer doesn't like dealing with assassins. It's not good for him; Babet and I have heard him say so before. I s'pose he'd like to know that his cloak was nearly misused."

"You're a clever girl to remember that," Thenardier remarked with a grin.

Eponine smiled ruefully. "Is he still at the Rue Beautreillis?"

Thenardier took another gulp of brandy. "I tell you, and then what? You cannot come marching in here as if you were the Prefecture. You're my daughter and there was a time when I'd say something and you'd do it, at least before you got airs. Now it's time to turn it about. What have you got to give me?"

' _Only that flask, that is all I can spare,'_ Eponine thought, feeling her cheeks burn. The liquor had been Azelma's idea of a bribe; it was just as well that the younger Thenardier girl remembered the particulars of their father's fondness for spirits. "Nothing except that I shan't tell the police that you've been using this hole," she said at last.

"You know I'd rather leave it, you ungrateful brat," Thenardier spat. He sneered at Enjolras and Bahorel. "See how selfish she is! Not a thought for her dear father, now that you've wined and dined her. Is this what your Republic teaches, for children to turn their backs on their parents? You young people are a wretched lot, blood-drinkers, who would gladly send to the guillotine your own kin. You will drink to liberty, equality, and fraternity while letting an old man like me starve."

Eponine gritted her teeth, even as she cast a furtive glance at her companions. She saw Bahorel's nostrils flare, but to her relief Enjolras remained his usual impassive self. "I'd help if it wasn't to do with pickings, Papa."

"Honest work! Hah! Do you think I don't know what they are saying about you, Madame Public?"

"Enough of this," Enjolras said sternly, taking a step forward such that he could easily prevent either Eponine or Bahorel from laying hands on the former innkeeper. "The sun is almost up and we have business to do, as do you. We are only inquiring into the Changer's whereabouts. Nothing more and certainly nothing less. We will not trouble you with anything else after."

Thenardier eyed the attorney from head to toe. "You are definitely a politician, thinking you can simply reason with that way with someone. I wasn't born yesterday-"

"Enjolras, this is useless..." Bahorel muttered.

"Indeed. Now why don't you three go home?" Thenardier asked curtly.

Eponine crossed her arms. "I s'pose if you won't help us, then we shan't be of much help to you if that assassin decides to come looking for you," she said. "Someone's already gone after Montparnasse and Babet is nowhere to be found. That doesn't leave much help about."

"I already knew that about Montparnasse and Babet," Thenardier growled as he weighed the now half-full flask in one palm.

"Aren't you afraid then?" she challenged.

Thenardier's eyes narrowed as he looked at Eponine again. "You shut your mouth, you hussy!"

She shook her head. "I'm not going till you tell us where he is. If you don't want us to return to disturb you, we need the correct address. You can keep the flask if you like."

"Rue des Forneaux. Number 15. If he has moved, do not ask me; I do not have eyes all over Paris."

Eponine nodded quickly. "Thank you, Papa." For a moment it occurred to her to ask something more, perhaps about his health or something to do with his present circumstances, but she already heard Thenardier pulling the sewer grate open. When she looked up again, her father was already out of sight.

Bahorel looked around the riverbank cautiously. "He will still expect a form of repayment for our coming down here. What will you do?"

"I'm not sure. I s'pose it depends on what he wants to do, but I'm  _not_ letting him near Azelma or the boys," Eponine replied determinedly as they made their way back to the street.

Enjolras' expression was thoughtful as he extinguished the lantern. "When in the day do you intend to speak to the Changer?"

"Right away. I know it's a Sunday but I need to stop by the Rue des Macons; Stendhal isn't done fixing up the damage there yet," Eponine said. "At least we don't have to worry about making sure that Gavroche and Jacques get to their classes today."

Enjolras nodded. "What about you, Bahorel?"

"I'd better show Therese that I am in no need of bandages," Bahorel said, cracking his knuckles again before he took the lantern from Enjolras. "Unfortunately I will not be able to join you at the Rue des Forneaux. I'm sorry to miss the fun."

"We'll tell you about it later," Enjolras reassured him as they began walking towards the Pont des Invalides. From there they crossed towards the Esplanade and then walked past the Champ de Mars. At the Avenue de Breteuil, Bahorel parted company and made his way to the Rue de Babylone, leaving Eponine and Enjolras to journey to the vicinity of the Necker.

"He's got a long way to go and so do we," Eponine said as she looked about the still quiet streets. The sun was beginning to rise now; the streets were looking less gray and the air was warm enough for Eponine to slip her hands out of her sleeves. "I hope I'm not taking too much time away from your day. I know you're very busy."

"As long as I'm at the Palais de Justice before ten, I should not expect any problems," Enjolras replied, giving her a sidelong glance.

"How could you still work on cases when it's so close to the elections? I know we have a meeting tonight, at the Place du Pantheon again since we only have four days left," Eponine remarked.

"Three. On the fourteenth no campaign work can be done; it will be the commission on elections who will take charge that day," Enjolras pointed out. "It wouldn't do to have undue influences on the voting process, or to have anything that could be perceived as coercion."

"Such telling your neighbor, while you are both at the polling place, what name to write down?"

"Yes, among other actions."

Eponine sighed, pondering the ramifications of such messy scenarios. ' _That could undo a lot of what has happened so far,'_ she realized as they now searched for any bakery or store where they could find something for a hurried breakfast. She managed to find two sous worth of Brie while Enjolras bought a loaf. They met again at the entry to the Rue des Forneaux. "Unfortunately we cannot exactly sit down to eat this properly; time is running a little short," Enjolras said by way of apology as he handed half of the bread to her. He removed his hat and tucked it under his arm as he leaned against a wall.

"This is more than what I had a year ago," she quipped as she handed over his share of the cheese. The morning was rather crisp and cold, making her wish for a moment that she and Enjolras had just gone back to the Rue Jean Jacques Rousseau, where there was not only a pot of coffee to share but a warm kitchen to sit in. ' _But this isn't so bad, not with him about,'_ she thought, inching closer to him for warmth. He nodded to her and stepped closer so that they were shoulder to shoulder as they conversed. She couldn't help but smile at the sight of the early morning sunlight catching in Enjolras' hair; she knew that a painter or sculptor might have taken this as inspiration for another masterpiece, but for her it was a familiar sight she'd dearly missed owing to their increasingly busy days. She sighed and clapped a hand over her mouth, hoping she hadn't heard.

Enjolras' eyebrows shot upwards with curiosity when he met her gaze. "Something going on?"

"No, just watching the sunrise," she said calmly, hoping not to let on that she'd been caught staring at him. She quickly dusted some crumbs off her gloves. "It's odd that we're going about looking for a person who's tried to kill us both."

"Aside from Foulon, we're the only two persons who could describe that assailant's appearance," he said as he put his hat on again, only to take it off as some stray strands of hair fell in his eyes.

Eponine giggled as she reached over to sweep his hair out of his face. "When we're there, you have to let me do the talking," she told him more seriously. This was no place for his usual eloquence or sternness. "He might be spooked if he thinks we're up to something official. I'm sure he knows that you are in politics, and he's never liked that sort of thing."

"I have confidence that you will be able to reason with him," Enjolras said, catching her hand before she could accidentally poke him in the eye "How reputable is he though?"

"Well enough, I s'pose, which is why he's probably he's the only one still in business. He does it nicely for thirty sous a day," she replied, nodding for him to follow her down the street. In a few minutes they were standing outside a rather spindly looking dwelling, with a battered wooden door and tightly shuttered windows. The yard bereft of any vegetation except for a few bare twigs.

Eponine ran up to the door and knocked four times before trying the knob. To her surprise the door opened readily to a darkened front room crammed with various garments hanging from rods and clothes trees."We still should have brought that lantern with us," she muttered.

Enjolras located the stub of a candle near the doorway. "Did he have all of this at the Rue Beautreillis?"

"Yes. Actually he seems to have more outfits now," Eponine whispered. She couldn't help but run her hands over a puce-colored ballgown, which despite its being slightly behind the fashion of that month, was still finer than anything she ever owned. She turned swiftly as she heard a step in the backroom of the house. "There he is. Good morning Monsieur Isaac!"

"Good day to you. The older Thenardier girl, isn't it?" a low, slightly raspy voice greeted from a doorway. A tall shape emerged and lit a pair of half-melted tapers set up along the mantelpiece, throwing a dim, flickering light onto the weatherworn but kindly face of a man above the age of fifty. His beard was gray but well-trimmed, and he carried with him a rather ornate pipe. These touches of elegance seemed rather incongruous with the velvet housecoat that covered most of his frame. The Changer hummed softly as he lit a few more candles around the room. He paused as he got a look at Enjolras, and for a moment he seemed to be studying this stranger. "And what's this young man, Citizen Enjolras, doing here?" he asked at length.

"He's a friend," Eponine replied, not surprised that her companion was recognized. "It's rather odd to ask, but could you please tell me about a certain man, one who borrowed your dark blue cloak? I think it's the one that was sewn through with some thread like silver. Very fancy."

The Changer's expression grew thoughtful as he looked at Eponine. "Why would you ask about the man? The cloak is more interesting; is it for you or Enjolras?" he said at length as he shook out a robe that appeared to have belonged to a deacon. "A theatrical touch for you, and something that will make him look less like a marble statue."

She rolled her eyes at this business-like talk, but had to stop from smirking on seeing the quizzical look that crossed Enjolras' face. Nevertheless she felt heartened by the fact that the Changer had lost none of his friendly manner, and that he seemed amenable to using the address 'Citizen' as opposed to the old "Monsieur". "I think your cloak is now with an assassin," she said to the Changer.

"An assassin? Now someone is intent on admitting more people to the grand bedroom south from here," the Changer said jovially.

"The grand bedroom?"

"Why, haven't you guessed it?" the Changer asked "You used to like riddles too, my dear."

"Not when I've got things to do."

"Come now, just one. It's the only bedroom where there is a bedstead for everyone, where the blankets are green in summer and white in winter-"

"Oh!" Eponine bit her lip, remembering once how Babet had regaled her and Montparnasse with a similar jest. "The Cimetiere Du Sud!"

The Changer grinned by way of reply. "Clever girl. You've always been. I hope you haven't had to lay anyone there recently."

' _I've come far too close to that,'_ Eponine thought, daring to glance at Enjolras. "Why are you suddenly talking about such an awful place?" she asked the Changer.

"It is worth pondering every now and then," the Changer said before going to examine another rack of garments. "I was right to save these outfits for the living-"

Enjolras' brow furrowed. "Citizen, I trust you are not referring to robbing a grave?"

The Changer burst out laughing. "Now I have your attention, young man. Of course I wouldn't do that; I have a Sabbath to keep. I do not see why you and the young lady are so pale; I heard the  _Radicaux_  headquarters is across from the Pantheon. Surely you do not fear the miasmas or even the shades."

"The dead do not harm the living except only by way of memory."

"That is wise. Can I interest you then in a riddle as well?"

"We are already in the middle of solving one," Enjolras answered. "This matter of an assassin is serious: he has mauled at least two men, attacked a translator's shop, and nearly injured a crowd at the Place Saint-Michel. He might have had a part in other incidents too."

"So when did he nearly kill a friend of yours, or if not, either one of you?" the Changer asked. "That is the way of the human race; men do not move against an avalanche unless it is their limbs or an extension of them that are at stake."

"I s'pose the end of it is to make sure he doesn't do anything more," Eponine said. She felt Enjolras tap her elbow and she looked down to see him press something into her hand. "The glasses?" she whispered worriedly.

The Changer started on hearing this and catching sight of the spectacles. "The green ones. That thief!" His hands shook as he nearly threw a robe onto a clothes tree and snatched the eyeglasses from Eponine's grip. "I hadn't even catalogued those yet and he took them off the mantelpiece!"

"When was this?" Enjolras asked.

"The first of this month, if I remember," the Changer fumed. His expression turned apprehensive as he held out a suit with lace cuffs and a frilled waistcoat. "He'd fit exactly in this. He's no gypsy or traveller. Not very young anymore either. He had dark hair and a hooked nose but he might have been wearing a wig and quills for all I know. He's got at least a hairy patch at the back of his neck."

"You know his name at least?"

"I cannot say."

Eponine discreetly laid a hand on Enjolras' arm before clearing her throat. "You must have heard that Babet is missing. He's the one who liked to come here. I'm not sure but it might have been this man too who forced him to run," she told the Changer flatly.

The Changer paused as if wrestling with something. He wiped some sweat off his brow after a few moments. "An assassin indeed!" he muttered, shaking his head with dismay. "You'd have me as an accessory to the crime," he said hollowly to Enjolras.

"It appears that you made the transaction with him in good faith. That could make you less culpable, in a sense," Enjolras said tersely after a few moments.

The Changer paled as he dusted off the suit. "Olivier Magnon. That was the name he gave. No address of course. You also know how these things may go," he finally replied, looking at Eponine pointedly.

' _It could very well be another name like those that Papa used to have,'_ Eponine realized. Still it was something to begin looking into. "Thank you Citizen Isaac. I promise you won't regret it."

The Changer took a deep breath through gritted teeth as he opened his front door to let them out. "I may in a way you do not know yet."

' _I wish we could have spoken in a better time,'_ Eponine thought somberely. "I'll tell my sister, my brother, and Montparnasse that you wish them well?"

"Yes you may. You'd better watch your necks, both of you; that Magnon will surely know you're on his trail," the Changer said, motioning for them to step out. "May Yahweh be with you both," he muttered before shutting the door and then locking it quite swiftly.

Enjolras' look was troubled as he and Eponine finally quit the Rue de Forneaux and arrived on the Rue de Vaugirard. "It seems as if Magnon is still more than a step ahead."

"If Magnon is even his name!" Eponine replied. "I know that Montparnasse wasn't lying and nor was the Changer about it, but perhaps he's called differently."

"There is that. It is also possible that he  _meant_  to drop the spectacles. He might have done the same to the cloak by now," Enjolras concurred, giving her a sidelong glance.

Eponine sighed. "If he ever gets caught, is he going to the  _bagne_  or will he be sent elsewhere _?_ He didn't kill anyone, so he can't be executed for it."

"Not the  _bagne_." Enjolras said firmly. That sort of punishment is going to be abolished. It was another death onto itself."

"Will we still have to tell the Prefecture what we found out?"

"I'll make a visit there today."

"Do you even have time to?"

"Yes, before I have to go to the meeting at the campaign headquarters." He looked her in the face before speaking again. "I'll see you again then."

She couldn't help but smile at this last sentence as they continued walking. At length they finally found an omnibus that would pass by the Palais de Justice en route to Les Halles. Eponine had to alight near the Sorbonne and walk the rest of the way to the Rue des Macons. ' _That ride seemed far too short,'_ she couldn't help thinking as she heard the omnibus leaving.

When she arrived at the Stendhals' house, she found the door ajar, but she could hear Emile cursing from the front office. "How goes it with you there?" she called as she walked into the room. She shook her head at the sight of Emile trying to set down a heavy drawer onto a cluttered desk. "You could have waited for me to come first; I would have cleaned it out," she said as she went to help him. Although it had been some days since the house was burgled, the premises still had yet to regain some semblance of order; piles of paper still stood in various corners, and much of the furniture and woodwork was in dire need of a carpenter's touch.

"I have to do this while Maman is asleep. It's the only time I can get any work done down here," Emile whispered furtively. "She's going to hate that I've been going through my father's things."

"You would have had to do it some time," Eponine said as she began clearing the desk so Emile could reposition the drawer. "He was in the middle of working, and what if someone might ask to collect some of his translations soon?"

"That is what I told Maman, but she was upset when I brought it up. I know it's soon, but I can't make the entire house some sort of...memorial to my father," Emile said, shuddering quite visibly. He paled at the sound of something hitting a wall upstairs. "That's Maman throwing her slippers. She can't get up or she'll agitate herself again-"

"I ought to tell her I'm here," Eponine said. "You finish looking through that or you put it away before I get back, and she won't have to know," she added before carefully leaving her pelisse on a chair and then running upstairs. The second floor was in somewhat better shape than the first, having been cleaned up in order to see to Odette's comfort. All the same, Eponine couldn't help noticing the gray wisps of cobwebs gathering in some of the corners. She knocked on a door and peered in. "Good morning Odette," she greeted gaily.

Odette was sitting up in bed, with the blankets drawn up to her chin. She was pallid and her hair was hanging in stringy clumps. On seeing Eponine she picked up a black shawl and threw it around her shoulders. "How long have you been here?" she asked softly.

"A few minutes," Eponine said as she sat by the bed. "How are you feeling?"

Odette merely sighed and adjusted her shawl. "I'm awake."

"Maybe I should ask Combeferre to visit and see to you."

"He was here yesterday." Odette cringed at the sound of a door shutting downstairs. "Could you tell Emile to stop opening up all the cabinets? It's making my head hurt to hear it."

Eponine had to do her best to keep a straight face at this request. "I could tell him to be quieter."

The older woman shook her head. "Tell him to stop. He shouldn't be doing that."

"Everything is a mess downstairs," Eponine pointed out. "He's just making sure that he didn't misplace anything important."

"He's going through his father's things!" Odette groaned. She took a deep breath as she sat up straighter. "My husband isn't even cold in the grave and now his belongings are being thrown out!"

"Emile is not doing anything of that sort!" Eponine protested. "You should come down and see what he's up to. I know that Combeferre said you should rest, but I s'pose we could carry you there in a chair or something."

Odette shut her eyes momentarily before she wiped her face on her shawl. "You two wouldn't understand. My dear Michel...you know that when he was around, Emile and I never wanted for anything. He's gone, and now everything is so frightening without him there. I don't know how I could ever manage now."

"You still have your son!" Eponine insisted. For a moment she felt as if she was looking at her own mother's face, a sight that was almost enough to bring a lump to her throat. "He's just doing his best and I am too. It's the only way we can all go now. I think you'd like to know that we're finding out more about that burglar. He'll be in La Force one of these days, you'll see!"

Odette shook her head again. "How can anyone from the Prefecture catch him?" she asked flatly. She wiped her mouth and frowned at the blood that came away from her cracked lips. "You will understand some day when you have a family of your own. What time is it already, Eponine?"

"I'm not sure, maybe not quite ten in the morning."

Odette sighed before slipping back under the covers. "Tell Emile that he need not wake me for luncheon. There's still bread in the kitchen if you're hungry," she mumbled.

Eponine nodded slowly before pushing back her chair and walking quickly out of the room. She rushed down to where Emile was now laying out papers in various piles all along the desk. "Does Combeferre know that your mother is still ill?" she asked worriedly.

"She shoos him away," Emile replied, his face a mask of despair as he looked up from his sorting. "I sometimes think she doesn't want anything to be done for her."

' _That's when medicine doesn't work anymore,'_ Eponine realized as she went to the kitchen to get a jug of water for Odette. When she returned to the room, she found that Odette had dozed off. ' _Does she do this all day now?'_ she wondered as she silently left the water at Odette's bedside and then tiptoed back downstairs to the front office to help Emile. It took them the better part of the next hour to finish sorting out the contents of the drawer, owing to the hodgepodge of documents that had been crammed in there.

As soon as they returned the drawer to its usual place in one of the backroom desks, a timid knock sounded on the door. Emile went to greet this unexpected guest and returned moments after, blinking confusedly. "It's a girl who says she's your sister?" he asked.

"Ah, you mean Azelma," Eponine said, making sure to bite her lip before she could accidentally mention Azelma's relationship with Prouvaire.

"You two don't look very much alike," Emile remarked.

"I s'pose it's because we got different parts of our parents' looks," Eponine deadpanned. She met her sister in the front hall. "Papa took the entire flask," she told Azelma by way of greeting.

"I told you he'd like that sort of brandy. We went all over the market just to find it," Azelma said.

"Who's 'we'?"

"Jehan and I, of course! So what did Papa do?"

"Told us where the Changer was. We got to talk to him. He said to greet you and the boys," Eponine replied, not willing to detail much more of their slightly futile expedition. "I think Papa must have gotten crossed somehow; I knew he wouldn't be happy to see us, but he was quite fit for an argument."

Azelma smiled slyly. "So you brought Enjolras with you?" She laughed at her sister's raised eyebrows. "I used to tell Jehan that it was a funny thing to see you two together, but he told me that it isn't so odd."

"I wasn't about to let him go looking for Papa or the Changer by himself," Eponine remarked. Still, she could not help but smile widely as she recalled how Enjolras had handled himself well in these particular debacles. ' _If I thought I already loved him then..._ ' she caught herself thinking before she pinched herself. She looked at her sister. "And why are you and Prouvaire talking about me and Enjolras?"

"We talk about everyone," Azelma said dismissively. "Ponine, I am so sure that it was never meant to be a secret. It would have come out some time that you two certainly have something to do with each other, even if you weren't living in the same house."

"You don't believe what was written in that awful pamphlet, do you?" Eponine asked crossly.

Azelma shook her head. "I do see things too. And it's not always the bad things. So where is Enjolras now? I heard there's a meeting tonight for the last days of the campaign."

"I don't know where he is; he's always got places to go to. He said we'd see each other at the meeting."

"Ponine, you should get a mirror. You're smiling."

Eponine groaned. "Did you come all the way to tease me, Azelma?"

"No, I only meant to ask how you were since Jehan said it would be good if I did," Azelma said.

"Why couldn't you just visit me at home?" Eponine asked. She paused when she realized what Azelma had meant. "So he just meant for you and me to talk?"

Azelma shrugged. "Sometimes he has odd ideas."

' _But good ones,'_ Eponine concurred silently. She motioned for Azelma to take a seat near the stove in the hall. "Will you be going to the meeting later?"

"Maybe. There's talk that the last meeting of all, the big one before the elections, will be at the Place Vendome. Will that one be like the one at Notre Dame?" Azelma asked.

"Not really. I hope it ends better," Eponine replied. "We'll find out the final plans tonight. There's only three days left for us to do any real work if we want our friends to win."

Azelma nodded slowly. "You'll see Enjolras tonight anyway. He probably knows the plan by now."

"Yes, I'll see him. I'm not sure about much else," Eponine mused. She could already imagine the hustle and bustle that would surely be all over the  _Radicaux_  headquarters that night; he would be in the middle of the crowd, the man of the hour as always. It would be difficult for her to get him to glance her way, much more to get a word in edgewise. ' _This time there will be no chance to talk in the hallway like we did,'_ she thought, feeling the weight of her notebook in the pocket of her skirt.


	45. Destroyed Mythology

_A/N: Please do not kill me for what will happen here. I will have it resolved next chapter._

**Chapter 45: Destroyed Mythology**

On most days, Enjolras had little reason to be in the neighbourhood of the Place Vendome. ' _Which is probably why the sight of that vanity is still unnerving,'_ he thought as he cast a critical eye on the column standing in the middle of the square like some displaced piece of a temple. It wasn't just because the structure had been erected by Napoleon Bonaparte to commemorate a battle; in Enjolras' mind the monument was an obstacle and even a waste of space, especially considering the crowd slowly filling up the square. The ornately carved stone looked nothing but garish in the morning sunlight. ' _Then again the narrow column just a slight improvement from the equestrian statue that was supposed to have been there before,'_ he mused as he quickly made his way to one of the houses on the east side of the plaza. It was the tenth of February. There was a cafe at the house's first floor; the tables on the outside had been pushed together to make a sort of platform for the speeches of the morning.

When he was a few paces from the house, he caught sight of Bossuet in the middle of an animated conversation with a group of young lawyers and clerks. Bossuet grinned by way of greeting and waved to Enjolras to join them. "Finally, someone with words to banish the chill. Joly swears that this winter has frozen everyone's humors so there's no telling where the vote will go tomorrow."

"Then it is fortunate that brains are composed of a different substance," Enjolras quipped. He nodded to the rest of the group, recognizing most of them from among the regulars at the Palais de Justice. "Hopefully you will be able to stay for most of this meeting; Citizens Paquet, Blanchard, and Jeanne will be outlining the legislative agendas they will pursue after the elections."

One of the barristers laughed mirthlessly. "We have to stay or Blanchard will never let us hear the end of it. What will you be speaking about then?"

"Reforms to the laws, particularly the penal code," Enjolras replied.

"How fitting; they did always call some of us young barristers as Robespierres in the making. How will you deny that?" another attorney asked.

"Not by denying 1793, but spend more time in this age," Enjolras replied. It took more effort than he thought to fight back a yawn; for the past three evenings he had been returning to the Rue Jean-Jacques Rousseau at increasingly disconcerting hours, only to be up and about again at daybreak. ' _I should find a few hours to rest before voting tomorrow,'_ he decided, noticing the worried look that momentarily passed over Bossuet's face.

"A prevention of the denouements of certain tragedies," Bossuet said, leaning on the cane he brought with him, owing to the fact that his foot had yet to heal up completely. "Have you seen Joly or Musichetta about? They left early this morning to see to something about their wedding, but I'm sure they said they'd be here."

"Not yet," Enjolras said. ' _I only know where Eponine and Combeferre are because we made it a point to say where we'd be,'_ he thought as he surveyed the crowd. Combeferre was near the Rue Saint-Honore to meet some professors and academicians while Eponine was in the company of some pamphleteers stationed near the building of the Ministiere de la Justice on the west side of the square. They'd made sure to give these locations as possible rendezvous points in the event they needed to locate each other for whatever reason. The agitation was thick in the air; it had not been a month since the explosion outside Notre Dame, and it was only natural for some journalists and a few officials to predict a similar or worse cataclysm in the final rallies of the campaign. ' _Yet that isn't enough to completely quell the enthusiasm,'_ Enjolras thought, looking again towards the now more crowded square.

"If I  _did_  have wings to fly there, that should remedy my problem," Bossuet said wryly, gesturing to the column. "Speaking of which, that old friend of ours Coutard was asking for you. He is in a rising sort of duel with a journalist named Hebert the Second."

Enjolras raised an eyebrow, having come across this sobriquet before in a variety of papers. "As long as there's nothing libellous or slanderous, I cannot intervene. This Hebert is rather cheeky in his style but he does not publish untruths."

"But he's pointed in his opinions," Bossuet said. He felt his coat and cursed. "I've lost the article. The one he wrote defending some of the  _Radicaux_  members, particularly Combeferre and Claudine with regard to their academic work together."

"I read it yesterday. Rather gallant," Enjolras remarked. He had rarely seen a defense of bluestocking ways and shared academic work, but this particular literary riposte had also gone as far as to advocate more collaborations of this sort in the near future.

Bossuet nodded. "Look now though, there's Citizen Blanchard, impersonating a tomato."

"Enjolras, there's something important needed for today, a list of the publications we've had so far," Blanchard said breathlessly as he joined them. "Who has the copy of the recent list?"

"The pamphleteers there," Enjolras said, gesturing to the Ministiere building. He vaguely remembered seeing Eponine jotting it down the last time they'd attended a meeting together, yesterday afternoon.

"I came from there. The list isn't with them, well it is with Citizenness Thenardier but she isn't around," Blanchard pointed out crossly. "Would you know where she is?"

' _Why now?'_ Enjolras groaned inwardly. "She's probably somewhere nearby. I'm sure there is a reason," he said, trying to keep calm despite the slight ache he could feel building up at his temples. He excused himself to go to the west side of the square, hoping that Blanchard had just missed Eponine by a second or two, and that he would find her right where she _said_  she'd be.

Much to his consternation, he could not find her anywhere near the building's steps or in the immediate area. "Have you seen Citizenness Thenardier?" he asked one of the clerks sitting there.

"The girl with the maroon dress, reddish hair..." the slightly toothless clerk began. He pointed to the far side of the square. "She went round to that way."

"Thank you," Enjolras said distractedly before walking quickly in that direction. He cast a worried look back towards the house he'd left, hoping that his absence had not yet been noticed. When he reached the far side of the square, he heard a cheer rippling through the crowd near the house. He gritted his teeth as he ran back the way he came, already noticing Blanchard looking out for him worriedly.

As he was about to enter the cafe premises, he felt a hand grab him and pull him to a side nook. He found himself face to face with Eponine. Her brow was furrowed with exasperation. "Enjolras,  _where_  have you been?" she asked.

"I was going to ask you the same thing," he said tersely.

She gave him a withering look. "I went all the way across the square and back, and I couldn't find you."

"You weren't where you said you'd be," he pointed out, not hiding his irritation.

"I had to go because I thought you needed help. Some thanks you're giving for that!" she retorted.

"We agreed to these arrangements to avoid this exact sort of inconvenience," he said seriously.

"Well I didn't  _know_  we'd both be up to the same plan!" she shot back. "It's impossible to tell what you're up to some times, Enjolras."

He raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean? We always outline our plans in very clear terms."

She gritted her teeth. "It isn't only about plans! I'm  _tired_  of guessing all the time what you mean!"

"With regard to what, exactly?"

"The things you don't say. You sometimes don't give a proper explanation for what you do, and you expect me to understand them," she said bitterly.

He glared at her, unable to make sense of this accusation. When had he ever misled her, albeit mistakenly, about any matter concerning them? "You could have said so earlier if I was ever being equivocal," he said, trying to ignore the increasingly feeling of tightness around his head.

"Would you even have listened?"

"I would never have denied you the opportunity to voice it out."

Her eyes went wide, as if she had not been expecting this response. "What if it was not about anything to do with this campaign?" she asked.

Enjolras looked her in the face, knowing this was not the time to get into such a discussion; out of the corner of his eye he could see people looking their way curiously. He gritted his teeth, knowing that they'd somehow trapped each other into this situation. "Even that. Now isn't the time for this though," he said, just managing to keep the vitriol out of his voice.

She bit her lip as if trying to hold back an angry retort and she shook her head. "I s'pose I shouldn't have expected otherwise," she said coldly. She looked over her shoulder to the crowd now watching them from inside and outside the cafe. "Well they're looking for you now, Enjolras. You'd better go to them. "

"And you?" he asked a little curtly.

"It doesn't matter to you now, I'm sure!" She pushed away his hand when he tried to touch her arm. "Maybe you never care enough, for as long as I am there to help you with what you want. That is all that it is to you, isn't it?"

"That isn't true, and you know it," he said more angrily, completely taken aback by her words. "You are a friend and that in itself is more valuable than this political work. Haven't I made it clear to you?"

"Not everything."

"What more do you want?"

She sighed deeply. "Don't you know by now? Or do you really  _not_  understand?" she whispered, glancing momentarily towards where someone was calling for him. She reached into her pocket for a paper, which she shoved at him. "I almost forgot I was supposed to give you this list. You do not have to see me later," she added more acridly before walking off into the crowd.

For a moment Enjolras thought of going after her, but the applause of the crowd following Jeanne's speech made him think twice of leaving his spot. He took a deep breath, keenly aware of the onlookers watching him avidly as he went to hand the list to Blanchard.

The older attorney gave Enjolras a questioning look. "So you did meet her after all?"

"Briefly," Enjolras answered, unwilling to detail anything more of the matter. Much to his relief, Blanchard nodded before going up for his turn to give a speech. In the meantime Enjolras went into the cafe. He sat near a window and rubbed his aching forehead with his fingertips. ' _If she's right about one thing, it's that I do not understand what she's trying to say,'_ he realized with dismay. Till this moment he'd been fairly confident in his ability to read her, or at least anticipate what she was set on doing. Now it felt as if she was completely undecipherable once more, regardless of the confidence they'd built over the past few months. Yet she was accusing him of the same thing, going as far as to charge him of being uncaring. ' _What gave her that sort of notion?'_ he wondered.

At length he heard a chair scrape across the wooden floor. "Enjolras, it's almost your turn," he heard Jeanne say from elsewhere in the room.

Enjolras nodded slowly as he got to his feet. "How long should I speak for?" he asked Jeanne.

"Ten minutes, maybe less," Jeanne said, gesturing subtly to the right hand side of the room. "To give room for the others to expound."

Enjolras shook his head as he followed Jeanne's gaze to where Paquet was going over some papers covered back to back in a nearly illegible scrawl. "I'll do my best," he said, going to where was now Blanchard was descending from the makeshift platform, causing the tables to creak dangerously.

Much to Enjolras' relief, the platform did not sway when it was his turn to climb on, even though he was certain that he was in no danger of falling if the platform had held Blanchard's weight. From this vantage point he did not have a clear view of the entirety of the Place Vendome, but he saw Bossuet, Joly, Musichetta, Courfeyrac, and Paulette over near the column, as well as Feuilly, Leonor, Coutard, Bahorel, and Therese near where some officials had stationed their chairs. Prouvaire and Azelma were to the right of the square while Combeferre and Claudine were at the entrance of the square leading to the Rue Saint-Honore. He knew better than to try to look for Eponine in this crowd.

"Citizens, your continued presence today here is appreciated," he began. Someone applauded in the crowd, only to be silenced by his neighbours. Enjolras paused before continuing. "Much has been discussed over the past few weeks for everyone to take into consideration at the polls tomorrow. The vote is more than just a representation of the citizenry; it is also a means of altering the existing law, of allowing the society to be its master, and not the other way around."

Somehow in the middle of this, he realized that his headache was abating. "In addition to what has already been proposed by Citizen Jeanne and Citizen Blanchard, we will likewise be advocating a review and reform of the penal code. This is to uphold a fundamental belief that the citizen does not cease to become a citizen or a human simply by the commission of a crime. How may the legislature go about this? First and foremost the use of capital punishment should be discontinued. This is not to deny the gravity and horror that accompany crimes such as murder, or to remove any deterrent against committing such acts. Even so, since no man has the right to deprive another of life, the same holds true even when one is a supposed criminal; the state cannot enforce this same deprivation either. The use of violence and execution was deemed necessary in times gone by, but in this day and age additional murder and vengeance are no longer to be used to justify the rule of law. We must reconsider now what the role of this Republic is with regard to justice. The State is more than a judge and the law is to move past its role of dealing out punishments, and the convicted is more than his or her offense. In this light, a prison sentence should at best be corrective for the accused, at worst preventive so as to bar any further harm from being inflicted on society."

More cheering came up from the crowd, particularly from a few cohorts of workingmen and Jeanne's neighbours from Les Halles. Feeling a little more heartened, Enjolras continued more passionately with outlining the proposals to abolish the use of the  _bagne_ , to change the manner and matter of sentencing towards more humane verdicts, and to reform the correctional facilities especially those for detainees below the age of discretion. Yet an observer might have seen that there was a certain gravity to this impassioned speech. Although Enjolras was clear and purposeful in his subject matter and more so in his manner, in the back of his mind he was keenly aware that nothing would undo Claquesous' murder, or allow Jean Valjean to recover the nineteen years he spent in Toulon, or banish Eponine and Azelma's memories of their weeks in jail. ' _Bossuet is right, it is the prevention of denouements,'_ he thought as he finally concluded his speech to rousing applause.

As he finally rejoined the crowd, he noticed Paquet sneering at him knowingly. ' _He will have something to say about the prison reforms part,'_ Enjolras thought. After a moment he caught sight of Grantaire seated nearby, raising a glass by way of greeting. "A little early in the day to be making a toast?" Enjolras asked, shaking his head.

"If one can make a toast with water," Grantaire said wryly. "All the same let me congratulate you on that speech, and only that speech, Enjolras."

Enjolras nodded slowly. ' _So it is true that he has sobered up,'_ he realized. "Why aren't you with the others?" he asked.

"I have work of my own," Grantaire replied. He beckoned for Enjolras to come closer and have a seat. "Only Eponine knows this, but I've shifted to working with the presses too."

"You, actually a journalist?"

"I have picked a modern Muse."

' _That must be why Eponine asked him for help with her article,'_ Enjolras realized. "For which paper have you been writing for?"

"A variety."

"You've been using a sobriquet?"

Grantaire grinned. "Hebert the Second."

"That is fitting." Enjolras rubbed his temples again, if only to keep from gaping at the former drunkard with disbelief. ' _I never would have thought it was him, of all people in Paris,'_ he thought. "You wrote to defend our friends. Do they know about it?"

Grantaire shrugged. "The myths should glorify Orpheus, not his lyre."

"You must tell them, some time. They would be grateful, as I am," Enjolras insisted. "How long have you been working?"

"Since after that meeting at the Musain," Grantaire said before taking a long sip of water.

Enjolras' eyes widened; that had been nearly six weeks ago. "All this while you've never written under your given name. Why?" he asked.

"A name is as good as a mask. Soon enough I will resume my usual form," Grantaire said. He took another sip of water. "I see though that you are in dire need of a penance."

"A penance..." Enjolras' eyes narrowed. No wonder he hadn't seen Grantaire in the square. "You overheard me and Eponine?"

Grantaire scoffed. "You put on a fine scene. You've made a mess out of the previous acts, but you may still turn your tragedy into a comedy."

"I'd rather you did not interfere in this personal matter," Enjolras retorted.

"It's hardly personal if your part of the Symposium is well known," Grantaire quipped. "You yourself were the first publisher that night at the Place du Pantheon."

The memory of that evening flashed in Enjolras' mind, of Eponine's standing up to Paquet, and his own subsequent intervention. "I did that because I respect her."

Grantaire burst out laughing. "Enjolras, you are in danger of perjury. You have gone beyond respect, worry or even simple amiability. You are no Hippolytus, especially where she is concerned. Neither are you immune to Eros."

Enjolras gritted his teeth at these references to mythology but he knew he could not deny that he had been anything but disaffected over the past few months, especially over the past five or so weeks. "Even so, I am not going to importune her against her will," he said after a moment.

Grantaire drummed his fingers on the tabletop. "Eponine is no Cassandra where you are concerned either," he said with a grin. "She turned down a marriage proposal from that Theodule Gillenormand."

For a moment Enjolras could only imagine Eponine's reaction to such a question. Somehow the image was only unnerving as opposed to amusing. Even more astonishing was the sense of relief, and perhaps even hope that welled up when he contemplated this scene. "When was this?" he asked.

"The day of the incident at the Rue des Macons."

"She didn't say anything about it."

Grantaire smiled. "I thought so. She asked me not to mention it either." He took a deep breath before draining his glass of water. "He had his reasons for asking, and they were practical. She had her reasons for refusing-practical and perhaps not so practical either."

"You do not mean..."

"I am only a poor oracle" Grantaire said wryly before checking his watch. "Now I have to serve my muse before tomorrow's certain victory."

Enjolras nodded, knowing that his friend would not say anything more. "That is a bold proclamation to make. Still I wish you luck in your endeavours today," He shook Grantaire's hand. "Thank you."

"I will accept the gratitude, but I fear you and Eponine will need the luck more," Grantaire replied before getting to his feet. "Till tomorrow, Enjolras."

After Grantaire had quit the cafe, Enjolras remained in his seat for a long while. ' _I slipped into it without knowing it, and I have not been fair to her,'_ he realized. As he got up to ask for a drink of water, he noticed a small white envelope on the far end of the table. He picked it up and looked around, wondering who had dropped it there without him or Grantaire noticing. He expected to find yet another blank missive, but to his astonishment he found himself in possession of a small white card with a drawing of a guillotine. A single date was written under:  _February 14, 1833._

"Citizen, did you see who left this?" Enjolras asked a server who was passing by.

"No one. Not with this crowd about," the server said. The man blanched on seeing this message. "Who would leave you such a vile threat?"

Before Enjolras could answer, several shouts of outrage came from outside the cafe. He quickly went outside and saw his colleagues all holding similarly marked cards. "You received one too?" Blanchard sputtered when he saw Enjolras.

The young man nodded. "I do not think we can blame any of the other parties for this."

"That is nonsense. Who else would disrupt the last meeting before the elections?" Paquet muttered, ripping up the card. "You can investigate this if you want; I'm complaining directly to Ouvrard and to Bamatabois that we are not tolerating these antics."

"You'll end up firing on your own people, Paquet!" Jeanne warned but Paquet had already stormed off.

After exchanging a few more conjectures with his colleagues, Enjolras sought out Combeferre and Claudine at the Rue Saint-Honore. "Another message," he greeted them grimly, showing the card.

Combeferre shook his head while Claudine cringed. "He's getting bolder," Combeferre remarked.

"The message though is less personal," Enjolras said. If the threat had been directed towards him specifically, he knew that the message would have been in invisible ink. ' _Unless of course that ploy has already outlived its usefulness,'_ he thought. "Have you seen Eponine?" he asked.

"A long while ago; she said that she'd be busy all day and she was hoping not to see you," Combeferre said rather pointedly. He raised an eyebrow as he looked his friend in the eye. "Enjolras, might I ask, what did you do?"

"You might as well ask what he  _didn't_  do," Claudine muttered.

Enjolras sighed deeply. "Unfortunately, Claudine has the better question."

Combeferre groaned. "It seems you owe her an apology."

"An explanation is more like it. One I am not sure would be acceptable either."


	46. Chapter 46: Lamplight

**Chapter 46: Lamplight**

"Ponine, why do we have to stay at home today?"

"I told you already, Jacques, you don't have classes today since there are elections. It's something that big, or older people have to do."

Jacques scratched his head as he looked back down at his rather battered school slate. "I want to be a big person like you and Enjolras so I can go to the elections," he said with a grin.

Eponine snorted at her youngest brother's words. "Well when you go to elections, you have to write. You'd better learn to do it and finish your homework first,  _petit,_ " she said, patting the top of his head. It was only eight in the morning and already she was running out of ways to make sure that her brothers finished their assignments. ' _At least Neville takes to books well,'_ she thought, noticing that he had propped up a huge book of maps on his bed, and was now trying to sketch a map of the coast. Yet when she went to check on Gavroche she found that he had been more occupied with doodling all over his history essay than actually finishing it. "Gavroche, you can't keep on doing this," she scolded as she went to get him a fresh sheet of paper.

"It's boring. All these Romans are the same sort of rotten fruit anyway," Gavroche griped. He shifted to let their cat Camille curl up on his lap.

"Rotten fruit?"

"That's what I heard Bahorel say once."

Eponine pinched Gavroche's ear lightly. "That's what he thinks. Well maybe he's somewhat right but it's not what's in the books."

"Elections and barricades aren't in the books," Gavroche pointed out. "Yet."

"Well you'd better wait a little longer for someone to write it, or do it yourself." She went to the door to listen for any sign of her concierge or her neighbours returning from the elections. Citizenness Leclair had agreed to go to the precinct on the first hour to cast her vote so she could return to her usual business right away. Combeferre would vote on his way back from the night shift. Enjolras was probably going to be away all day; Eponine had heard him leave his room at the crack of dawn, but she could not bring herself to go out to talk with him. ' _At least he remembered to leave some coffee downstairs,'_ she thought. It was at least a small mercy in their current state of animosity.

She sighed as she thought back on their spat at the Place Vendome. ' _I s'pose I shouldn't have confronted him that way, not there especially,'_ she mused. Yet she'd been so exasperated and tired that she hadn't quite noticed what she was saying, and before she could catch herself they were both too far gone to be reasonable. ' _He'll never want to talk about it though,'_ she reminded herself.

A few minutes later she heard the front door creak open and she rushed downstairs. "How goes it there?" she asked Citizenness Leclair.

"It's quiet enough at the wine market, Eponine," Citizenness Leclair said reassuringly as she hung up her long coat. "It looks like it will be a quiet election."

"I s'pose in some places, I'm not sure about this quartier," Eponine remarked before running back upstairs to get her pelisse. She locked away her pistols in a drawer and pocketed only her notebook; firearms and various bladed objects had been banned within a half-kilometer radius of the polling premises. "You three had better stay here today and don't go about," she warned her brothers, giving a particularly pointed look to Gavroche.

Gavroche stuck out his tongue, Neville only looked up from his book, while Jacques scratched his head again as he looked at his sister. "Can we go if we're with Enjolras or Combeferre?"

"They'll be busy today,  _petit_. I don't think they'd let you go about with them," Eponine said as she put on her pelisse. She could only imagine the cajoling and pleading that would surely take place if her neighbours chanced to return home early. "I'll be back tonight. We can celebrate a little," she added before making her way outside.

Even before she arrived at the Halles Aux Vins, she could already hear the bustle and chatter from the queues leading to the stalls where the actual voting was taking place. Vendors wove their way through the throng, jostling the voters and passersby. A beggar seated atop a barrel was playing a light ditty on a flute. Yet despite this gaiety, people were exchanging wary glances and in some cases, talking in hushed tones; even the presence of gendarmes around the precinct did not seem particularly reassuring. ' _Maybe they expect the chairs and tables to go flying again like last year,'_ Eponine thought. She nodded to some acquaintances from among the pamphleteers; these young men had made a show of chatting up some grisettes when in actuality they were observing the area to help make sure that no one made off with the ballot box or tried anything similarly illicit. Almost all the active members of the various parties had committed to an hour or two of vigilance that day. She went to a board to make sure that her name was on the list of voters registered in that part of the Latin Quartier. She breathed a sigh of relief on seeing the words: ' _Thenardier, Eponine'_ printed clearly on the list, alongside the names of her friends. Carefully she affixed her signature to a blank space beside her name, scowling at the fact that her mark was more of a scribble at least when compared to some of the finer scripts gracing the page.

The ballot handed to her was almost as simple as the one she'd filled out at the November plebiscite; the main difference was that this time had names as opposed to 'yes' and 'no' as choices. ' _I won't choose differently even if we are quarrelling,'_ she reminded herself as she put a mark beside Enjolras' name and then signed her ballot. She guessed that the elections in the Latin Quartier were already a foregone conclusion; the  _Radicaux_  was guaranteed of having at least one seat in the legislature.

After voting, she lingered in the precinct for another hour to join the watchers. Much to her relief those sixty minutes proved to be uneventful, marked only by the bored chatter of the watchers as they passed around tobacco; pamphlets and drink had also been banned in the vicinity of the polling facilities. Just as she was about to leave, she caught sight of a lanky, almost gawky figure in the crowd, wearing a hat that did not hide his dirty blond hair. She deftly made her way over to Emile Stendhal and nodded to him. "Does your mother know you're here?' she asked furtively.

Emile reddened and shook his head. "I went out while she was sleeping."

"Doesn't she plan to vote?"

"She says it's too dangerous."

Eponine rolled her eyes. "It was a little wicked of you to go. Is someone staying with her?"

"Your friend Musichetta," Emile replied sheepishly.

' _I thought she'd be watching the polls too,'_ Eponine thought. "Never mind, I'll go there myself. You'd better run back as soon as you can though because I don't think I can explain properly to your mother," she warned Emile before heading out of the wine market.

When she arrived at the Stendhals' house, she found that the front office was lit brightly, but Musichetta was waiting in the front hall. "How did Stendhal convince you to stay here?" Eponine asked by way of greeting.

"I was waiting for you, Eponine," Musichetta replied. She grinned as she brought a sketch out of her pocket. "I'm going to have this sewn for my wedding. What do you think of it?"

Eponine's eyes widened as she looked at a drawing of a rather lacy gown with a tapered waist and a billowing skirt. "Looks better for a princess' ball than a wedding," she remarked.

"A princess would make it fussier. I'm not going that far especially with the jewelry. I want us all to look very nice on that day," Musichetta said. "You and Azelma ought to get new dresses too. Maybe not in the same color though."

Eponine shrugged, looking down at the green work dress she had on that day. "Well we have several weeks to get it done."

"The wedding is in April. That's hardly enough time," Musichetta said, shaking her head. "Speaking of celebrations, there's one tonight, at the Musain. Courfeyrac and Bahorel thought of it."

"Already? The results of the elections won't be out by then."

"Yes, but it's the culmination of this campaign, and we all worked so hard in it. We ought to celebrate at least that."

Eponine bit her lip, knowing that it would be impossible to completely avoid Enjolras at that particular sort of gathering. "I don't know if I'll go."

"Why?" Musichetta's eyes were dark with concern. "Eponine, I know you and Enjolras had a falling out yesterday. That doesn't mean you ought to shy away from the rest of us."

For a moment Eponine could only gape at her friend. "How do you know about it?"

Musichetta sighed. "I saw you leave the cafe where he was and you looked absolutely furious. You didn't come back, so I knew it had to be serious."

"Chetta, I didn't really mean to argue with him that way. I just said something and I don't know..." Eponine sat on the stairway and sighed deeply. "I don't know what to say to him later."

"Maybe you need not think about it," Musichetta suggested. One of her eyebrows shot up after a moment. "What if you write a letter in that pocketbook of yours?"

Eponine looked down and saw that somehow she'd ended up bringing her notebook out of her pelisse. "I don't want to tear pages out from it."

Musichetta laughed and shook her head. "Eponine, you have  _no_  idea, do you?" she asked over the sound of knocking. "That's Therese. We're watching the polling together at the Place de Odeon till before noon," she said. She rubbed Eponine's shoulder. "I think you'll be fine by tonight. But for now, can you manage here?"

"I s'pose so. Stendhal should be back soon," Eponine said as she walked Musichetta to the door. When she stepped outside she saw that Therese was carrying a large basket with her. "What, you're bringing lunch to everyone?" Eponine asked teasingly.

"No, only to Damien," Therese said with a laugh. "You ought to try these though," she added, handing two currant rolls to her friends.

"It should be easier for us. I haven't heard any bad news," Musichetta said hopefully after swallowing her first bite of the roll.

Therese shook her head. "There's one, from the abattoir near Montmartre. The Prefecture had to break up a brawl, and there were sacks of already marked ballots found on some persons."

Musichetta swore under her breath. "There was talk of that sort of tactic going on. I am sure now that everyone is pointing fingers at everyone."

"It's almost like what happened here, at the plebiscite last November," Eponine noted as she wiped her mouth. "Someone tried to steal the ballot box. I was there."

"That was when Combeferre took a chair to the head?" Musichetta asked.

"Yes. He was lucky nothing worse happened."

Therese shook her head. "No one will try the same thing twice, so I think we're safe. I hope that's true for the other quartiers today," she said with a nervous laugh. "Eponine, will you be at the Cafe Musain after work?"

"Yes, since you asked," Eponine said, smiling wryly. ' _Maybe I can stay a little while even just to eat before going home to my brothers,'_ she decided. After her friends left, she tried not to think of what could happen in the evening, and instead she went upstairs to see to Odette. Much to her slight worry, the matron spent most of the day asleep, even when Emile finally returned from the polls. The afternoon passed quickly, and at nightfall Eponine made her way to the Place Saint-Michel.

Much to Eponine's surprise, the celebration was right in the front room instead of in the backroom. Almost as soon as she stepped into the cafe, she found herself greeted by a chorus of cheers and applause. "Why, what is this about?" she asked her friends confusedly.

"That pamphlet you helped write was quite the success among the fishwives at Les Halles," Courfeyrac informed her. "I have yet to confirm it though, but it helped bring the vote in Jeanne's favour there, and he is almost sure to be confirmed as the representative."

"Is it really?" Eponine asked in disbelief, looking at the assembled group. She couldn't help but notice that the Pontmercys were absent, as well as Feuilly and Enjolras.

"Yes, and it's another reason to celebrate tonight. I have sent the news to Cosette, though I doubt that she will be joining us here on such short notice," Claudine said ecstatically, handing a glass of wine to Eponine. "I am sure this will not be our last publication."

"What more can we write about?" Eponine asked half-jokingly.

"A good many things, such as the issues of the peasantry?" Leonor chimed in, crossing her arms.

"There's a great deal of time for  _everything_. A term in the legislature is four years," Paulette pointed out. She motioned for Eponine to sit next to her. "I'd get up to celebrate with the rest of you, but I am out of shape for it," she said, patting her rounded midsection.

"Have you decided on a name yet?" Eponine asked.

Paulette shook her head. "Maurice and I are still debating. I intend to win at least half of it; if we have a son he is to be called Armand."

"It is a lovely name," Eponine agreed, looking now to where her friends were greeting Foulon, who'd just arrived with his arm still in a sling. The atmosphere was growing increasingly merry; somehow Prouvaire had brought out a flute and was now playing snatches of a mischievous drinking song, to which Azelma, Bahorel, Grantaire, Therese, and Courfeyrac were changing the lyrics. The rest of the group was exchanging stories avidly, or passing around pastries and glasses of wine.

Suddenly Grantaire stopped in the middle of a verse. "It isn't half a victory, Feuilly!" he greeted the fan maker, who'd just stepped into the cafe.

"Of course it isn't," Feuilly said as he took a seat and dusted off his hat.

Leonor caught his gaze and went to him. "You came from the Hotel de Ville, didn't you?" she asked him in a soothing voice.

"Yes. I have gotten my revised itinerary," Feuilly said, pulling her to sit beside him.

"Itinerary...wait, to where?" Combeferre asked, brushing some crumbs off the table.

Feuilly looked at his friends and shook his head at Bossuet's offer of a glass of wine. "I will be leaving for England on the 21st, to assist a diplomatic mission. I should be back by the end of March."

"Congratulations to you!" Courfeyrac said enthusiastically amid the murmurs and applause. "Yet why the face?"

"It will be his first time away from France. The first time for  _any_  of us," Joly pointed out.

"A diplomatic mission...will this involve dealing with that old viper Metternich?" Bahorel asked.

Feuilly blanched for a moment, calming down a little when Leonor clasped his shoulder. "I do not think so. If he decides to call on England's Home Secretary or make a similar mission while we are there, then our paths may cross."

"He is a dagger of two, perhaps three sides," Prouvaire observed.

"I am not unaware of that, Prouvaire," Feuilly said a little grimly.

"Why are you talking of a man as if he was a  _lingre_?" Azelma chimed in. "He can't be as dangerous as those thugs who were seen in the Marais."

"What thugs in the Marais?" Eponine asked.

"They were out near Saint-Lazare, making signals," Azelma said with a shrug. "I wasn't there; I only heard about it when I went to the market."

"At least there aren't any attempts on specific people's lives," Combeferre said.

"Or any that we know of?" Bahorel asked. "What happened today at Montmartre was already serious enough. I already dread the possible reports from other cities."

"Lyon. Any place in the Vendee. Calais if the stories of  _émigrés_  influence are to be believed," Combeferre noted seriously.

"At least there is no trouble in Marseilles or Toulon. That we can be sure of," Leonor said before Feuilly gave her a warning look.

Before Eponine could also ask about this matter, she heard Louison screech in the kitchen. A few moments after her brothers and Navet scampered out, their faces and hands sticky with what appeared to be some sort of syrup. Neville nearly tripped, owing to not having quite learned to balance yet on his wooden foot, and had to be rescued by Combeferre before he could crash into a table.

"What are you four doing here?" Eponine asked, rather dismayed at this sight.

The four children pointed to each other before Gavroche finally grinned. "Navet was on the march, I wanted to see what was going on, so I asked Bahorel. Neville asked Bossuet, and of course we had to bring the littlest one along," he said.

"I told you to stay home!"

"You said that Enjolras and Combeferre wouldn't bring us around, but you didn't say anything about the rest of the battalion."

Eponine's jaw dropped. "What  _am_  I going to do with you, Gavroche?" she asked exasperatedly over the laughter of the rest of the group. As she ushered her brothers and Navet towards the Musain's kitchen she heard the front room door open amid enthusiastic shouts and cheers. She risked a glance over her shoulder and instantly regretted it; Enjolras had seen her first. His smile was polite, but that was for the rest of the group; the expression in his eyes was more troubled and unsure. For a fleeting moment she felt rooted to the spot, knowing that he was intent on speaking with her this very evening. She managed to tear her gaze away before half dragging the youngsters out so she could begin wiping their faces.

Even when Louison had furnished them with some wet rags and closed the kitchen door for good measure, it was nearly impossible to manage the four boys' messy state. "Ponine, why can't we stay outside?"Jacques protested as Eponine scrubbed at his dirty hands.

"Because she's angry with Enjolras, that's why," Neville said, frowning at his own newly scrubbed state. "That's what Azelma said today."

Eponine gritted her teeth and shook her head. "I can't let you walk around with sticky hands." She heard a yelp and almost laughed when she saw that Claudine had joined her, and was now trying to deal with a rather petulant Navet. "I'm doing fine with this, Claudine," she insisted.

"I'm not letting you miss dinner," Claudine said. She rolled her eyes mirthfully at the sound of laughter and heckling from outside. "Apparently it seems as if Grantaire has been up to much these past few weeks. He's now a journalist, and apparently he now has a sweetheart too."

"I knew about the writing but not about the lady," Eponine admitted in a matter-of-fact tone. There was no use in affecting any surprise now that the secret was out in the open. "He kept all of these things so well, didn't he? I s'pose I wouldn't have found out what he was about if I hadn't seen him at work one time at the Place du Pantheon."

"Francois was trying to find out who'd written that piece about our work a few days ago," Claudine remarked, smiling widely. "I shall have to think of a way to repay Grantaire for this, soon."

"Did he say who he's been courting?"

"No, but Courfeyrac guessed that there was someone and Grantaire acknowledged the fact. We may meet her some time."

"You mean you and Musichetta will scheme for it to happen," Eponine said with a smirk. She inspected Gavroche's hands and his face. "That will do. Don't you think of making a mess again."

Gavroche made a face at her before opening the kitchen door and letting himself and the other boys out into the front room. Eponine gave herself an once-over before following Claudine back to where Paulette, Courfeyrac, and Bossuet were seated. "I hope your own little one isn't as troublesome," Eponine said to Courfeyrac and Paulette.

"The point is moot if Courfeyrac is half of him or her," Bossuet snickered.

"A Courfeyrac but not a  _de_  Courfeyrac," Paulette quipped, elbowing her lover.

"How degenerate," Courfeyrac groaned but the affection was evident in his tone. "Grantaire, have you told Eponine about your work yet?" he called to the journalist who was still in the middle of trying to explain matters to Bahorel, Prouvaire, and Azelma.

"She caught me in service of the muse," Grantaire said, holding up a glass of water.

"I only  _guessed_ ," Eponine pointed out. She had to stifle a laugh when she looked to another table and saw that her brothers were now pestering Enjolras and Combeferre with a variety of questions. ' _They were probably waiting all day to do that,'_ she thought. She thought of reaching for another glass of wine but thought the better of it. Instead she got to her feet and headed to the door. At the last moment she glanced over her shoulder and managed to catch Enjolras' gaze. He nodded almost imperceptibly before setting aside his own glass of water.

It took Eponine a few moments to adjust to the sudden dimness of the Place Saint-Michel, despite the fact that some new street lights had been installed in the area. She went a little way from the Musain and waited under one such streetlamp, trying to ignore the sharper chill in the air. In a few moments she saw Enjolras walking up to her. Even in the half-light she could see how drawn his face was. "Were you on your feet all day?" she asked him.

"More than half of it," Enjolras said. "I was hoping to see you at breakfast this morning."

She shook her head. "Enjolras, it would not have been so simple."

"I thought so." He paused and looked her in the eye. "I'm sorry about what happened at the Place Vendome. I should have at least acknowledged what you tried to do."

"I s'pose I shouldn't have made that sort of scene either." She knew it had embarrassed him rather greatly, if the way he looked now was any indicator. "Could you forgive me for it?"

"I did. The simple fact is that we both forgot ourselves."

She couldn't help but nod at the matter-of-fact way he'd said this; even after all this time she could take comfort in the fact that Enjolras didn't usually hold grudges. "Well in the end I think it all goes well for you; you won today, I'm almost sure of it. Congratulations."

He nodded. "Thank you, Eponine. It wouldn't have been possible if you hadn't intervened."

She smiled more widely. "I promised you five weeks. I told you I wasn't going to give up."

"I know. Thank you again, for that and more importantly, for everything else in between."

She raised an eyebrow; she'd been about to go back to the cafe but his words stopped her in her tracks. "Why, what else?"

Enjolras smiled slightly at her. "It isn't only the campaign. Over the past few weeks, even  _before_  that, we've been choosing to get involved in each other's affairs. It isn't merely because we are neighbours, or move in the same circles, or discuss certain ideas."

She nodded, feeling relieved that he'd finally voiced it out. "You only see that now?"

"Eponine, I've had maybe a day and a half to think this over. Maybe I don't understand everything, as you said, but I know now that things were  _never_  as they seemed," he said seriously. He looked down, as if trying to figure out the best words to say. "After you left yesterday, Grantaire had a few rather strong words with me. He told me that you turned down Citizen Gillenormand's proposal."

For a moment no words came to Eponine's lips. "Why did he tell you?"

"He thought I had to know," Enjolras replied.

Eponine sighed, already making a mental note to berate her friend for divulging her secret. "He was very insistent about it, and I had to get the point across more forcefully," she explained.

"I can imagine. It's good that you turned him down."

"Yes. What he thinks I ought to do with him isn't what I want."

"That is one thing." Enjolras took a deep breath. "I'm glad that you turned him down."

"Of course you would be because you two never quite got along."

He looked at her keenly, as if willing her to understand what he had to say next. He clasped her hand such that she could feel every callus of his fingers against her own skin. "I wasn't even considering that. The particular regard and affection I have for you is more than enough reason for it."

She smiled as she adjusted her grip, deftly slipping her slender fingers in between his. "I think you already guessed what you mean to me, Antoine. Now what will we do?"

"That would depend on what you'd wish," Enjolras said, squeezing her hand. There was something more hopeful in his countenance now, as if he'd finally let go of something grave weighing on him.

"I won't be your mistress," she told him firmly. "I want us to be respectable."

"I'd never ask you such a thing," he assured her. "At the same time, I will not deny you. You're not someone to be hidden away."

"It's impossible for me to not be public after these past five weeks."

"Even if it had gone differently, I know you would not like to be hidden all the same," he said, letting go of her hand so that he could brush a strand of hair out of her face.

She smiled as she closed the distance between them, no longer feeling any trepidation or even a light-headed sort of thrill as opposed to a certain satisfaction and relief. "Thank you for telling me, Antoine."


	47. Chapter 47: In the Open

**Chapter 47: In the Open**

"You won't have many days like this in the next four years."

Enjolras could only wince as he inspected a fresh bruise on his left shin. "Especially since practicing singlesticks with you might actually prove harmful this time," he remarked.

"We're both out of practice," Courfeyrac pointed out, looking around the busy singlesticks practice ring. It was around four in the afternoon, shortly before the masters would begin their daily tutorial. "When was the last time you had to use this sort of combat anyway?"

"A few weeks ago. Notre Dame," Enjolras answered grimly. He gritted his teeth at the sight of Courfeyrac pulling his sleeve over a bruise of his own; once again it seemed as if his vision was clouded with smoke and his ears rang with the shrieks of the wounded. ' _Why of all days it has to be that one?'_ he wondered silently.

"Enjolras? Is everything alright?" Courfeyrac asked after a moment.

Enjolras took a deep breath in an attempt to banish the memory. "I had something on my mind."

"Don't you always?" Courfeyrac asked, concern still lingering in his voice. "When will the legislature have its first session?"

"The first of March."

"That doesn't leave anyone much time to prepare and set their affairs in order, especially if the results will only be released tomorrow. What is this I hear that the winners will have to set aside their jobs and divest some of their assets? "

"It's a matter of keeping the public trust," Enjolras explained. "Under the constitution, anyone elected to office must not engage in business or other matters that may bring about a conflict of interest in the government's decision making."

Courfeyrac whistled. "Which means you probably won't be practicing law for some years?"

"Yes. It would come to that," Enjolras said in a matter-of-fact tone. "It's a necessary sacrifice. There will be some form of compensation, a minimum allowance. It should suffice."

"If you can live on black bread," Courfeyrac pointed out as he carefully put on his cravat, flicking at the tails of the knot till he was satisfied with the way they looked against his neck. "Speaking of bread, will you be joining at the Cafe Bon Vivant later? Grantaire and Coutard are celebrating the end of their duel and the burial of Hebert the Second."

Enjolras nodded, knowing that he had no reason to pass up on this gathering. ' _So much the better to learn more about the particulars of their work,'_ he decided. Regardless of the outcome of the elections, he was sure that in the near future it would be necessary to work with his journalist friends. "It is a truce. They will not run out of reasons to renew their merry war in the future."

Courfeyrac snorted. "Already expecting it?"

"I'm not one to bet against  _some_  odds," Enjolras deadpanned.

"Remind me again never to bet on someone's sobriety."

"I believe Grantaire's present circumstances already will be a reminder enough," Enjolras pointed out as they gathered up their things and began making their way to the Cafe Bon Vivant.

"I couldn't help but notice that you and Eponine didn't sound the least bit surprised at his revelation last night at the Musain," Courfeyrac remarked.

"He told me a few of the particulars during the meeting at the Place Vendome."

"And apparently Eponine learned of it even earlier. She didn't even tell you? "

"I believe he might have asked her to keep the secret for a time," Enjolras said. He was still puzzled as to why Grantaire had been so reticent, especially considering his friend's usual openness about his personal affairs.

Courfeyrac sighed deeply. "I only wish he told us earlier. Perhaps he didn't want to mention it till he was sure of some success."

"Regardless of his reasons, we must not disrupt the outcome," Enjolras said. ' _It is even better than a return to what once was,'_ he decided. He had never known Grantaire as a sober man, but Bahorel, Joly, and Bossuet swore that there had been a time when Grantaire had been the most lucid of their then rather small group of friends. He could only wonder what they made of this change.

When Enjolras and Courfeyrac arrived at the Cafe Bon Vivant, they found Grantaire and Coutard already at a corner table. Also with them was a stocky young woman who wore her dark hair pinned up in a knot at the nape of her neck. Coutard saw the newcomers first and raised his glass of water. "Come to share an early repast?"

"If it involves more than sustenance, yes," Courfeyrac replied. "I believe you owe us an introduction and a full account, Capital R."

Grantaire grinned as he brushed some crumbs off his collar. "It is a reintroduction since all of you have descended from Olympus. Enjolras, Courfeyrac, meet Citizenness Nicholine Montrose. My dear Nicholine, may I introduce Citizen Enjolras and Citizen Courfeyrac."

Nicholine reddened for a moment, perhaps at Grantaire's compliment. "It may as well be a reintroduction, what with the way that Grantaire speaks of you, especially you, Citizen Enjolras," she said with candor.

Enjolras threw a warning glance at Courfeyrac, noticing the younger man's smile turning into a mischievous smirk. "You are in the company of an eloquent story-teller, Citizenness," he said cordially.

"You mean a storyteller with a graceless tongue," Grantaire chimed in. "As to my account, where should I begin?"

"After the meeting at the Musain," Courfeyrac said.

"I received an offer from one of Prouvaire's connections at a lodge, in order to do a bit of an article regarding business affairs," Grantaire replied. "He then recommended me to a few editors, and since then I've been only an apprentice of Herodotus."

"Yet of all enterprises, journalism?" Enjolras asked curiously.

"I prefer to collect my thoughts."

"A wise move."

Courfeyrac gave him a sceptical look. "Why did you decide to use a sobriquet?"

"I had to express some matters away from the notice of the Furies," Grantaire replied.

Coutard rolled his eyes. "It was still too telling. Most correspondents would not choose such a direct allusion to  _Pere Duschene."_

"A paean you mean!"

Nicholine rolled her eyes as Grantaire and Coutard began to debate the symbolisms of various pseudonyms. "Do they always use so many allusions?" she asked Enjolras and Courfeyrac.

"Yes, though in Coutard's case it is more for illustration's sake," Enjolras said, not wishing to comment much on Grantaire's general pattern of speech.

"Fortunately it's very rare that we are brought up short with their references," Courfeyrac chimed in.

Nicholine sighed deeply. "It is all well and good for you attorneys. I find I do far more reading than I should just to understand Grantaire. I hardly have time to do it since I work as a governess; today is my half-holiday and he has my head awhirl. In more ways than one, fortunately."

Courfeyrac burst out laughing. "How did you and Grantaire become acquainted?"

"Isn't acquainted quite missing the point?" Nicholine asked, raising a shapely eyebrow. "We were introduced by a mutual friend last November. A dear friend of mine is a maid at the home of one of the artisans in the neighborhood of the Barriere Du Maine, where Grantaire has a number of friends."

Enjolras nodded slowly, remembering Grantaire's failed errand at that place so many months ago. He couldn't help but wonder for a moment if Grantaire had ever mentioned the story to his mistress but he thought the better of bringing it up, more so when Nicholine scooted back to where Grantaire was seated just to whisper something in his ear before kissing his cheek.

Courfeyrac watched this scene with amazement. "She's a potent one. Enough to make him give up the fumes of absinthe."

"Perhaps there are other explanations?"

"It's the way she talks of him. For a woman that patient, a man might be persuaded."

Enjolras shook his head, remembering Grantaire's reprimanding him at the Place Vendome. It had been something necessary, if only to prevent a series of even graver mistakes. ' _That was something more than his usual boldness,'_ he mused, picking at some of the food on the table. "How did your journalists' duel begin in the first place?" he asked Coutard and Grantaire.

Coutard swallowed a mouthful of wine. "In Occitan. I had an article in one of the Courgourde's publications, exploring the possibilities of the legislature subdividing into smaller regional assemblies instead of attempting the same system of the National Assembly of 1789."

Grantaire shook his head. "A far too complicated Parliament of sorts. Each city and department is already Athens in practice."

"It would be less unwieldy, especially in the areas far away from Paris."

"It risks dissolving into Estates again, dictated by proximity as opposed to class," Courfeyrac observed.

"Exactly what he said," Nicholine chimed in, elbowing Grantaire. "Or wrote, actually. He published it in the  _Moniteur_ , of all places!"

Enjolras nodded, already guessing what had probably happened next. "You wrote back in French then," he said to Coutard.

"If only to actually get it read in Paris and in circles outside of the migrants here from the Midi," Coutard said. "My original suggestion would benefit other regions."

"To a point," Enjolras remarked.

Coutard sighed deeply at his friend. "Enjolras, I know that you and a lot of people would ideally let every person represent him or herself in the assembly but it will not be possible in our lifetimes."

"That is what was said in some quarters about deposing the king," Courfeyrac chimed in.

"A rightful point; if we'd failed last year at the barricades we all would have been tried and possibly executed for treason," Grantaire pointed out.

Nicholine shook her head at this grim remark. "It took long before they got bored and moved on to more interesting topics," she drawled.

"Occitan as a medium of instruction, and the question of using passports?" Courfeyrac asked.

"It's not something for legislators only," Nicholine huffed. "Thank the Lord for the elections actually happening or they'd still be sparring with their quills."

Grantaire laughed and kissed Nicholine's cheek. "We're no longer living in the days of the Mysteries of Eleusis. Any enigma can be explained now."

"Again more allusions!" Nicholine groaned.

Courfeyrac had to stifle a chuckle at this. "You'd better be straightforward with her, Capital R. A lady does not like to be slighted even there."

"I know all too well; Hera never lets Zeus go unpunished."

"That is an extreme example," Courfeyrac said, swilling the wine in his glass. He looked towards a group of patrons conversing animatedly near the cafe door. "Some news there, Citizens?" he called to them.

"The winners of the elections might be proclaimed tonight at the Hotel de Ville!" a workingman hollered. "Congratulations there to Citizen Enjolras."

' _Nothing is final yet,'_ Enjolras thought even as he nodded cordially. He knew that if Dufour had survived the attack at Notre Dame, the vote might have changed significantly. "My apologies for having to leave early. It is a long way to the Hotel de Ville," he said regretfully to his friends.

"No, we're going too," Courfeyrac insisted even as Grantaire and Coutard began looking for their wallets so they could pay the bill. "It would be nearly criminal to miss this turn of events."

Enjolras nodded gratefully. "We should tell the others then," he told his friends.

"We'll head up to the Musain and to Prouvaire's place first. You have to go to the Hotel de Ville as soon as you can, but I imagine you'll want to go by your home too. Eponine will not forgive you if you do not tell her about it," Courfeyrac said with a knowing grin.

"Assuming she's still home and not rushing to the Hotel de Ville too _,"_ Enjolras said before as the group parted ways, leaving him to walk as quickly as he could to the Rue Jean Jacques Rousseau. ' _To think we were talking over breakfast about the possibility of the results not being released till tomorrow,'_ he thought. It had been a rather hurried chat, owing to the fact that Eponine was urgently needed at the Stendhals' that morning, but she'd promised that this evening they would meet. When he arrived home, he found the three Thenardier boys playing rather noisily on the ground floor.

On seeing him, Neville wriggled out from where Jacques was trying to pin him down. "You missed Ponine! She's been out," he said.

"Did she say where she was going?" Enjolras asked.

"The Hotel de Ville. She'll be earlier to the Convention than you are," Gavroche quipped.

"I believe that is the case already," Enjolras said before going upstairs to set aside his satchel and get a heavier overcoat; the night was growing chillier. Just before he could step out the door, he felt someone tug on the hem of his coat. He turned to see Jacques grinning up at him. "What is it,  _petit?"_

"Is it true you like Ponine?" Jacques asked in a near-whisper.

"Of course he likes her. That's why he's always with her," Neville scoffed, ruffling his brother's hair.

Jacques scratched his head as he looked at Enjolras again. "I don't see you kissing her."

Enjolras had to fight to keep a straight face at this remark. "Even if people like each other, they don't have to do that,  _petit_ ," he said to Jacques.

"Why, what do you do?"

"Something different," Enjolras said. ' _There isn't a simple explanation for this situation,'_  he realized. There wasn't much he could explain without straying into rather embarrassing territory or divulging some secrets.

Gavroche smirked at him. "I'd like to go to see the government before it's covered in dust."

"Your sister will be furious if I bring you with me," Enjolras pointed out.

"Ponine forgets how old I am," Gavroche said. "If the question is decided, there's no need to make a ruckus on it."

Enjolras nodded grimly. "Get your coat then. If something happens, you are to run back here straight away. Do you understand?"

Gavroche nodded before running upstairs. Jacques gave Enjolras an indignant look. "I want to be bigger like him."

"You'll have to wait a little longer, I'm sorry," Enjolras said as Gavroche returned, carrying a very obviously altered coat.

Jacques nodded. "You'd better tell me the story," he said to Gavroche.

"Yes and you'd better not interrupt me,  _mome_ ," Gavroche retorted.

"Gavroche, nothing of that," Enjolras warned before bidding goodbye to the two younger boys and stepping outside. "You might see this differently when you are old enough to vote."

"Not so long," Gavroche said, holding up his hands. "If I'm old enough to carry a musket, I can write down my name for something."

"That is more difficult than carrying arms," Enjolras pointed out as they continued making their way to the Hotel de Ville. When they arrived there was already a crowd rapidly growing outside the Hotel de Ville. A good many of them were standing in groups, clearly representing the different factions and parties. Some irate watchers were shouting down the guards posted at the door. Immediately Gavroche spotted Courfeyrac and ran up to him, leaving Enjolras alone. As he moved through the crowd, Enjolras saw a rather beleaguered looking Rossi trying to calm down some of his colleagues. It took a moment before Rossi excused himself from the conversation he was in and went to greet Enjolras.

"No proclamation yet and people are already being unreasonable," Rossi complained in an undertone. "Already arguing for this policy and that even before anyone can warm a seat. I wish they would just talk to Ouvrard about it, not me!"

"You are after all a candidate too, viewed as a representative in a sense," Enjolras pointed out dryly.

Rossi crossed his arms. "I've already come to face the fact that my party will  _not_  secure the majority here in Paris. Whoever wins will have a devil of a time facing the tide."

"A worthwhile challenge and necessary for equality's sake."

"Tell that to Ouvrard. He is quite certain he will get that seat."

Enjolras shrugged wryly at this comment, even as he heard a burst of raspy laughter from somewhere nearby. He immediately caught sight of Eponine in the middle of a very animated conversation with a Joly, Musichetta, and a rather sceptical looking matron. She was scribbling down something in her already more than half filled up notebook. Before he could even think of going to her, she glanced in his direction and smiled at him before quickly returning to listening to her companions. ' _A slight postponement for conversation then,'_ he decided. For now he would just have to content himself with wondering what she was up to. He looked back to see that Rossi had somehow located Courfeyrac in the middle of everything, and the two were now discussing something rather enthusiastically.

Courfeyrac gave Enjolras a long-suffering look when he joined them. "Gavroche is with Grantaire. Rossi here has grossly underestimated your situation," he announced.

Rossi scowled. "I was simply saying that Citizenness Thenardier has a very obvious  _tendre_  for him."

"It's a mutual attachment," Enjolras said in a matter-of-fact tone.

It took a moment before a look of comprehension dawned on Courfeyrac's face. He shook his head with disbelief. "That was why you two had to talk last night?"

"With the original intent of clearing up some serious misunderstandings," Enjolras said.

Courfeyrac smiled as he clapped Enjolras' shoulder. "It was long in coming." He grinned as he waved to someone approaching them. "Eponine, I believe someone is missing you already."

"Is he really?" Eponine quipped, looking at Enjolras teasingly.

"Because our last discussion was abbreviated," Enjolras said, touching her shoulder lightly.

Eponine smirked as she stepped closer to him. "Well you can see that you and I are wrong with what we were talking about today; the decision is tonight and not a moment sooner. It's a good thing none of us placed any sorts of bets on the outcome of these elections."

"That is a dangerous wager," Enjolras pointed out. "Where did Joly and Musichetta go?"

"To talk to some colleagues," Eponine replied. "That lady I was with wants something translated; I might get it by tomorrow. She told me that she is also a friend of Citizenness Recamier."

"Recamier? The widow of the deceased banker?" Enjolras asked, recognizing the name of the hostess of one of the most exclusive salons in Paris.

"Yes. I heard that if I see her at the L'Abbaye-Aux Bois, I could possibly get the chance to see Citizen Chauteaubriand too and ask him about his histories. I think you'd be interested in those too," Eponine said, idly running her hand over his arm. "Have you ever been there?"

"For purposes of the campaign. I had to accompany Blanchard and Jeanne there once for an introduction. I understand that Prouvaire is the one more acquainted with him because of his writings." While Enjolras did not usually cross paths with Chauteaubriand and the older members of Parisian high society, a few encounters had been necessary for the sake of courtesy and forming opinions. ' _There will certainly be conjectures in that quarter by tomorrow,'_ he mused.

Rossi whistled at this. "Citizen Chauteaubriand is an excellent ally to have, even if he has been...equivocal with his stances."

"He defends what he sees fit to defend," Courfeyrac said. "In that he is quite the gallant."

"But not the best man for a fortification," Rossi remarked disapprovingly. He glanced towards the Hotel de Ville. "He is probably speaking now with Lafayette there. We might see him tonight."

"It's not really seeing in a crowd like this," Eponine protested. She stood on tiptoe and held on to Enjolras' arm as a shout came from the area of the Hotel de Ville's entrance. "It's hard to see like this. Enjolras, who is that at the door?" she asked, holding on to his arm.

"An officer from the commission. Lafayette, Chauteaubriand, and the former baron de Barante are there too," Enjolras replied, moving his hand to her back to steady her. It was not easy to hear the announcements over the hubbub of the crowd; it sounded like the official was trying to call the assembly to some semblance of order before he read the names of the winners. Despite all this effort, a roar of approval rent the air when it was announced that Charles Jeanne had won as the representative of the district of Les Halles.

"He already won it even before the fifth of June, some might say," Courfeyrac remarked.

Enjolras motioned for him to keep silent. He nodded with approval as he heard Jerome Bamatabois' name read out as the winner in the area of the Marais. ' _A moderate but not stagnating,'_ he thought. Bamatabois was the perfect representative for that area; he was not unwelcome in the ultras' company but he knew better than to alienate the Faubourg du Temple. ' _Hopefully Blanchard is taking this loss graciously enough.'_

A more limpid applause greeted the announcement regarding the winner in the Chaillot district, a  _Democrates_  candidate by the name of Gabriel Mathieu. "Never thought a placeholder would win," Rossi said a little sceptically. "He'd better do more than just fill a chair."

"It means something if the people in Chaillot voted for him on short notice," Eponine said. "Well better him than that awful Paquet!"

"Let him gather moss," Courfeyrac said in a tone of mock reverence.

Rossi raised an eyebrow but he went pale at the crowd cheering again. "Did I just hear my name?"

"Yes, as the representative from Montmartre. Congratulations," Enjolras said.

"Thank you," Rossi mumbled, though he still looked as if he would fall to the ground.

Enjolras felt Eponine's fingers digging into his arm even as the official at the Hotel de Ville shouted out over the rising cheers of the crowd, "And last but not the least, from the district of Latin Quartier, Antoine Enjolras." The young man shut his eyes for a moment even as the air was filled with tumultuous applause. ' _Tomorrow is now terra incognita,'_ he realized, feeling both enthusiasm and trepidation wash over him. There was no more time to linger in disbelief.

When he opened his eyes again, he saw Eponine in front of him. "You'll do even more amazing things, Antoine. I'm sure of it," she whispered, clasping his hand.

"I should hope so. Thank you," he said, feeling more heartened at this vote of confidence.

Courfeyrac gaped at them. "That's all you're going to say to him?" he asked Eponine.

"Why, it's the truth!" Eponine shot back.

"Maybe I will still despair of the two of you," Courfeyrac retorted. He raised his hand as if he was making a toast. "Congratulations to you, Enjolras. You'll be the one to prevent some old mistakes from perpetuating themselves."

"I shall endeavour not to disappoint you," Enjolras replied gratefully.

"Enjolras!" another voice called. Joly was making his way to them, followed by Musichetta, Gavroche, Grantaire, Nicholine, and Coutard. "This was inevitable, my friend," Joly greeted enthusiastically over all the congratulatory explanations. "We ought to celebrate again."

"More so since I heard from your parents that a  _Radicaux_  win was also likely in Aix," Coutard chimed in.

"My parents?" Enjolras clarified.

"They're in town. I only found out now; your mother saw me and said she'd know me anywhere," Coutard said.

"If they are here...that means they skipped the elections at home," Enjolras said confusedly. "Coutard, where did you meet them?"

"You need not go looking for us, Antoine," a woman's voice greeted warmly from nearby. At the very sound of this voice Eponine let go of Enjolras' hand and motioned for him to look to the left. Enjolras turned to see a man and a woman dressed in long coats and large hats, as if they'd just come from travelling. This pair looked to be a few years short of fifty; the man's golden hair had some strands of gray and silver, while the woman had many wrinkles surrounding her eyes.

It took a moment before he could nod to his parents. "Mother, Father, this is quite the surprise," he greeted despite the sudden feeling of his mouth going dry.

"Of course you were only expecting a letter," Louis Enjolras said, amused at having caught his only child off guard. "Your mother and I figured it wouldn't quite be the proper congratulations that way."

"Thank you. If you're here, that means you did not vote yesterday?" Enjolras asked.

"That being the one regret in the situation," Louis replied. "We are lodging not far from here, in the neighbourhood of the Tuilleries. You should come over for breakfast tomorrow so we can explain the entire story to you."

"The blame is  _entirely_  on the neighbours," Monique Enjolras chimed in, rolling her eyes as if recalling something. "Now I know Coutard here, and I'm certain that I'm also looking at Maurice de Courfeyrac."

"It is only Courfeyrac now..." the dandy corrected, eliciting a burst of laughter from Gavroche.

"How new-fashioned," Monique remarked wryly. "Are your other friends also this way, Antoine?"

"We are a straightforward sort," Enjolras replied before beginning to make the appropriate introductions. In the middle of it all he felt Eponine's hand grasp his arm tightly, and he met her questioning, almost challenging expression for a brief moment. "I'd also like you to meet in particular Citizenness Eponine Thenardier," he concluded, slipping his hand around hers.

"Enjolras, that is a very disappointing introduction," Grantaire quipped before he had to dodge Nicholine's attempt to pinch him.

Louis only laughed at this while Monique looked confusedly at Eponine. "You've made quite a name for yourself even as far as in Aix, young lady," Monique said at last.

"I s'pose no one can stop people from talking," Eponine replied, keeping her tone level.

Monique nodded wryly. "Especially when one as young as you stands up to the head of the party here in Paris," she said with a knowing grin. "You should also join us at breakfast tomorrow."

Enjolras sighed deeply, already certain as to what his mother was thinking. ' _It might be better to talk to them first and clear up some things,'_ he decided. "Mother, perhaps this discussion might be better for some day besides tomorrow," he suggested.

In the meantime Eponine bit her lip but she nodded slowly after a moment. "I can go but I'll only be there for a little while. There might be new things to finish up tomorrow at the Stendhals."

"It will only be an hour or so," Louis said. "I'm sure Antoine will be busy as well, so we can't keep him for too long either," he added as he gave his son a pointed look.

' _There is no good reason to refuse,'_ Enjolras realized. Regardless of what other reasons his parents may have had, he was still interested in knowing what exactly had prompted his parents to leave town at such a crucial time. "What time should we be there?"

"Eight in the morning. That should suit all our purposes well."

"Very well then."

After a few more pleasantries were exchanged, Louis and Monique departed for their lodgings, leaving the rest of the group in a rather astounded and awkward silence. "Now the _Moniteur_  may as well stop printing now that all the news is out," Gavroche said after a moment.

Eponine pinched the boy's ear even as the rest of the group laughed. "Couldn't you behave yourself a little while longer?"

Musichetta sighed. "This was hardly the best time to be relaying such personal news," she said to Enjolras and Eponine.

"It was inevitable," Enjolras deadpanned. He glanced at Eponine and much as he expected, he did not find her looking the least bit shaken; in fact she seemed to be contemplating him rather wryly. Nevertheless he had to be certain. "Are you sure you are completely amenable to this invitation?" he asked her.

She shrugged. "It's a breakfast I won't have to cook."

He smirked at this cheeky reply. "That aside."

"I s'pose it's better than them asking all the oddest things." She reached over to straighten out of his cuffs. "Tomorrow, people will start asking the silliest questions and not just about politics. I think we'll need to practice making good answers."


	48. Chapter 48: Story Telling

**Chapter 48: Story Telling**

' _If Maman was still around, I'm sure she'd want to know everything about today,'_ Eponine thought as she fiddled with her left glove in an attempt to conceal a hole that had unexpectedly appeared just over the knuckle of her little finger. After a few moments she gave up with this enterprise and moved on to watching the other people seated on the omnibus. ' _How funny that everyone is already off to their business, while Enjolras and I are only going off to have breakfast,'_ she mused, watching the young man seated next to her as he browsed through a copy of the  _Moniteur_.

She sighed when she saw Enjolras stifle a yawn. "Do you still sleep at all?" she teased.

"When I can," he replied, giving her a sidelong glance.

' _When is that?'_ she wondered silently. She couldn't help but notice that the shadows under his eyes were even more pronounced than usual. Perhaps his weariness accounted for why he had to blink twice when he looked at her. She grasped his wrist lightly, resting her fingers over where she could feel the steady beat of his pulse. "It's good that you'll get to see your parents before you become even busier," she remarked.

"I would have had to make time at some point," Enjolras said, slipping the newspaper into his satchel. "Their visit is quite providential in this sense; there are matters that I have to explain to them in person and the sooner the better."

"I s'pose, just to avoid some misunderstanding," she concurred. "I think they've been watching things from afar. Your mother knew my name and something of what happened at the Place du Pantheon last month. Who knows what else she might have read?"

He raised an eyebrow. "You mean that  _other_  pamphlet, the one you had to debunk?"

"It could have reached Aix too."

"Your rebuttal probably also did, or if not, it is on its way there," he pointed out as the omnibus slowed down. "We're at the Tuilleries."

"What time is it?"

"Ten minutes to eight. We'll be there right on time."

She swallowed hard as they alighted from the omnibus and began walking towards a new house not far from the gardens. Although she had put on her best dress and even fixed some of the trimmings on her hat, she still couldn't help but feel a little shabby for the occasion. ' _You don't worry as much during meetings, why should you worry now about breakfast?'_ she chided herself. Then again it wasn't everyday that she was invited to dine with older bourgeoisie, especially the parents of a legislator. She shivered at the sharp chill in the air; a look at the gray sky was enough to tell her that it would certainly rain that morning.

Enjolras gave their names to the footman at the door of the house, and soon they were showed upstairs to a cosily furnished but windowless anteroom. There was a low fire in this room, but the floor was covered in thick rugs, lending the illusion of warmth to the premises. Two ornately carved doors stood at one end of the room.

Eponine bit her lip as she looked around. "Should we go in or wait here?"

"We wait," Enjolras said, lightly rubbing the base of her neck.

Eponine felt her breath catch for a moment but she smiled at this oddly comforting gesture. She stood up straight as one of the doors swung open. "Good morning Citizenness Enjolras," she said to the matron who entered the room.

"Good morning to you as well. Since this is a Republic now, you ought to call me Monique; it's less of a tongue-tie that way," Monique said, smiling at Eponine. She was wearing a tastefully cut light blue morning dress with the customary full sleeves. Her dark hair was pulled back from her face but still fell in fashionable ringlets. "Fortunately after all this time you have still retained your habit of being punctual, Antoine," she said to her son.

Enjolras nodded cordially. "Is Father already awake?"

"He'll be joining us as soon as he remembers he has to wear a coat to breakfast today. We can wait in the other room," Monique said, opening the door wider.

The adjoining room was brighter and more airy, owing to a pair of tall windows that boasted of a sweeping view of the Tuilleries. A fire had already been built up in the hearth, adding to the light in the room and throwing a warm glow on the paintings lining the walls. To one side of the room was a large table set with four places, decorated only with a centrepiece made of red roses. The air was thick with the aromas of freshly baked pastries, butter and fresh coffee. It was enough to make Eponine forget that she'd woken up that morning without much of an appetite.

Monique rolled her eyes exasperatedly when she saw her husband emerge with a brown coat over his clothes. "Louis, put on something better, we have company!"

"I'm not wearing my tailcoat to breakfast," Louis groused as he took a seat.

Eponine had to keep a straight face when she saw Enjolras watching this exchange with an amused expression. He gave her a conspiratorial smile which she couldn't help returning despite the slight awkwardness. ' _I don't know what I'd do if my parents could talk that way,'_ she observed. She could only recall bits and pieces of similarly warm interactions, mostly when her family was still living in Montfermeil. ' _That was too long ago,'_ she reminded herself as she tried to keep up with the conversation and pleasantries throughout the meal. Surprisingly it was easy; neither Louis nor Monique was condescending or overly curious, and it seemed as if they simply wanted to know more as to how the campaign had progressed in Paris.

"Why did you decide to travel to Paris instead of staying for the elections?" Enjolras asked his parents towards the end of their repast.

"As your mother said, it's all because of the neighbours," Louis explained. "The de Bracys, that's the family backing the  _Constitutionalists,_ were getting rather belligerent with us and your cousins. A few duels almost broke out. Anyway Citizen de Bracy was intent on trying to get his opponent, Citizen Raynaud-that's the  _Radicaux_  candidate, to withdraw. He was willing to pay off the more influential supporters, and he was calling incessantly at our place to 'secure our loyalties'. Monique claimed it was getting on her nerves, so she proposed that we frustrate him and we take a vacation in the process."

"That does not sound like it will be of much help; he will still be waiting when you return," Enjolras pointed out sceptically, setting aside a piece of bread.

"Antoine, of course we didn't just leave. We wrote to everyone else except the de Bracys, telling them what was going on. A sort of expose; I know you're familiar with that method. If that doesn't help turn the vote towards Citizen Raynaud, then you can call me a fool," Louis explained smugly. "We may not have voted but we turned the tide, I believe."

"That was what Coutard said," Enjolras replied. "I hope there will not be any repercussions."

"There won't be. It is always best to get along with the neighbours, and the de Bracys know that," Monique said. "Now we've told our story, what about yours and Citizenness Thenardier's?"

Eponine and Enjolras looked at each other but before either of them could reply, a harsh knocking broke the silence. Louis pushed back his chair and went to see who was at the apartment door. He returned after a moment with a small box covered in wrinkled brown paper. "This has no mark, no address. The porter left it," Louis said, carefully putting the box onto a side table.

Monique shook her head. "It could be something misplaced. Didn't you ask the porter?"

"He was simply told to leave it specifically for us," Louis replied.

"But why would there not be an address or a name?"

Louis shrugged before carefully opening the box and brought out two small cards. One had a drawing of a guillotine on it. The other bore these words which he read aloud: ' _To Citizen Louis Enjolras and Citizenness Monique Enjolras: Kindly please stay out of our business while you are here in Paris. We will make it worth your while. It would be in your son's and Citizenness Thenardier's best interests too if you obeyed. Sincerely - O. M.'_

Monique twisted a napkin between her hands. "Probably from a friend of those awful de Bracys!"

"I doubt they'd figure out so quickly where we are lodging," Louis muttered. He reached into the box and pulled out several hundred franc notes. "This is a very fine bribe."

"May I see the other card?" Enjolras asked his father. The young man inspected the drawing of the guillotine and shook his head. "This has to be reported to the Surete."

"You've seen this before, Antoine?" Louis asked testily.

"All the candidates of the  _Radicaux_  party received similar cards a few days ago."

"Among many other threats, I gather?" Louis asked critically. "You might want to consider arming yourself then, Antoine. Your marksmanship would serve you better than singlesticks at this point."

It was all that Eponine could do not to smirk on hearing Enjolras begin to explain his belief that carrying a weapon could be construed as a provocation. ' _Can't he see that this could end badly for him even now?'_ she wondered worriedly, daring for a moment to catch his gaze. He shook his head almost imperceptibly, prompting her to roll her eyes. She'd have to reason with him too later, perhaps if she could pull him aside after supper or some more opportune moment. As she mulled over what she would have to say, she saw Monique nod to her.

"We'd best leave them to talk for a little while," Monique said. "You can bring your coffee or some bread with you if you like."

Eponine swallowed hard even as she reached for some pieces of brioche. If there had been anything she was dreading about this encounter, it was the possibility of having to deal with Monique alone. She knew that the woman would have some particular questions for her regarding her writing, or perhaps about other more personal matters. Nevertheless she followed Monique into a side room that had been fitted with some settees and a table.

"It's a poor excuse for a drawing room," Monique said by way of apology as she set down her own cup of coffee. She sighed deeply as she twisted a napkin again. "Please be honest with me, Eponine. How long has he been getting these sorts of threats?"

"Since last month," Eponine replied slowly, remembering the night when they'd found the note with invisible ink. "All of the candidates get threats Citizenness-I mean, Monique. I s'pose that's how dangerous it really is," she added.

"I had dearly hoped that after the revolution I wouldn't have to worry about him risking his life this way," Monique said. She took a deep breath and looked at Eponine. "You would probably agree with me that there is no word that exists to describe Antoine's stubbornness."

"If he was any different, then he wouldn't be a legislator or anything."

"Yes, but none of this is worth losing his life," Monique muttered. "Do you ever worry about him?"

The question brought Eponine up short, and she felt her mouth go a little dry. "When I think I have to. Usually he's just fine," she said at last before quickly taking a bite of the brioche she'd brought. Yet even so she felt a slight chill of trepidation at what lay behind this query. ' _We always say we'll see each other at some point, and what if one day it doesn't happen?'_

Monique sipped her coffee, eyeing Eponine bemusedly. "I expected that you would be older, judging by the way you write. I know you were a co-writer for that pamphlet so of course the style there is rather mingled, but I did get a chance last night to read the article you wrote about your situation, particularly your brothers."

Eponine nodded slowly. "I didn't want them caught up in this trouble. They're too young for this."

"You yourself are almost too young," Monique remarked. "You're only seventeen."

"I'm turning eighteen in April," Eponine said tersely. "I s'pose it's not too young for everything."

Monique cracked a smile. "You remind me a little of Antoine when he was a little older than you, when he left home for the first time. It wasn't to go to Paris though."

"Oh?"

"He hasn't told you yet about what happened in Marseille?"

Eponine shook her head. "He doesn't often tell stories."

Monique sighed knowingly. "He, Coutard, and a few friends had just passed the bac and were now away from school. They couldn't wait to finish it up," Monique explained. "Now they'd been doing quite a bit of work with a local newsletter in Aix. Agitation. Those were troublesome days; I had no idea what I'd do with him. Then once they had a rendezvous of some sort in Marseille. They were there for three months. Antoine was quite different when he came back. He was always serious but this time he was rather determined. He'd made up his mind that he wasn't going to stay in Aix and that there was so much more he had to do elsewhere. He never really said what happened there. He left for Paris before he turned nineteen."

Eponine paused, trying to imagine Enjolras as a boy, perhaps one who was reckless about life if such a trait was possible in him. She did not know what was in Marseille, but she suspected that it must have disturbed him deeply if it could move him to this very day. ' _It makes a better story than mine,'_ she decided after a few moments. "You never minded that he was away for so long? That's seven, nearly eight years if you count this one."

"Of course he'd come back to Aix to visit," Monique said. "Louis and I also knew that he was busy with the secret societies, more so when we heard that Coutard was involved with the Courgourde. And in case you've forgotten we've met a few of his friends."

"So you were always Republicans?"

"Not always. What about you? Your parents?"

"My father was a Bonapartist, I s'pose Maman was too." As for Eponine herself, she couldn't say she had been very political even if she had told Marius that she was a Bonapartist, just for the sheer enthusiasm of it.

Monique's brow furrowed. "At the least they must have encouraged your reading a great deal."

Eponine didn't hide a wry laugh. "We hardly had anything worth reading." Certainly her mother's romance novels did not count in the way of substantial. "I like books though. I'd borrow them, and when I was working in a bookshop I'd take time to do some sort of study. I still try even though I'm working in a different situation now."

Monique nodded understandingly. "And where are your parents now?"

"I did write that my mother is dead, and that my father and I are estranged," Eponine said a little brusquely. "Not on a political matter though."

"That is terrible. Nevertheless I commend you again for caring for your siblings," Monique said. "I gather that Antoine is also on good terms with them?"

"Sometimes better than I am," Eponine quipped with a grin. "He and Gavroche, that's the one you met, were friends before I even met him."

"I suspect that the younger ones may want a father," Monique pointed out before draining the last of her coffee. "An odd sort of father."

"Is there a right sort of one?" Eponine asked.

"Perhaps not. I have been thinking that inasmuch as I believe that it's good that there is much headway being done for the plight of women, it will not last unless men are remade as well."

Eponine gave her a curious look. "Remade?"

"A change in their way of thinking, so that they may not see these gains as usurpation of their power or a diminishing of their rights," Monique said. "Every man and even every woman has the capacity to turn into a tyrant when threatened. To avert that would require some different sort of revolution, and the law helping it along with its safeguards. Then of course education, perhaps in the home because that is where many of these debacles begin."

"If it has to begin in the house, who would do it?"

"The parents of course, but therein lies another sort problem. A true equality would not only go against much of what religion and Rousseau teach, but even upset the amity around the hearth," Monique replied. "For instance, should a man take part in domestic duties he is ill-prepared for? What is to stop women from being conscripted and thus depriving their children of their care? It would not be in the natures of some to do these."

Eponine looked down, trying to consider this question. "I s'pose it would depend if they could learn to do those things, or want to," she said. "It's funny what people want to learn."

"They want, but  _should_  they?" Monique asked. "I'm not against learning but I'm more concerned as to the suitability of some knowledge in certain situations." She cocked her head as she looked towards the entrance of the drawing room. "Are you finished with your discussion yet?" she called.

"Yes, mainly since Antoine has some appointments and I believe that Eponine has some too," Louis said. "I'm sorry to interrupt your philosophical chat."

Monique made an indignant noise while Eponine merely shrugged. "Someone would have asked that sort of thing eventually," the younger woman remarked.

"At least you know," Monique said with a smile. "I should like to speak with you and your friends some time soon. Louis and I will be in Paris till the 21st, so do send word."

"I will," Eponine replied. "Antoine should too; or rather I am sure he will."

"Yes but I've had years to know him, as confusing as he is. You though, I suspect I'll be seeing more of you in the coming years so I'd best learn how we can get along," Monique said mischievously.

Eponine felt her face grow hot but she still managed to bid a cordial goodbye to her hosts. ' _If that's how they think, no wonder Antoine has so many questions about everything,'_ she realized as she and Enjolras went back outside.

"That was an unexpected turn," Enjolras said at last as they began walking. "Did it go well?"

"It was interesting. Your mother gave me a lot to think about," Eponine replied, catching his hand and winding her fingers around his.

"She seems to like you,"

"Does she have a choice?" she quipped. "She worries about you."

"So does my father. We had to talk about that matter, as well as some adjustments I will have to make once I start my work with the legislature," Enjolras said.

"I agree with him that you should arm yourself," Eponine told him bluntly. "I'm giving you one of my pistols when we return home."

"You will need more than one shot to defend yourself," he pointed out. "That is why firearms are given in pairs or more."

"Then what will you do for yourself?" she asked.

"I'll have to find some other means in that case," he said firmly. "In the meantime, my father will bring that entire message to the Surete. It may help clear up what is happening in Paris and elsewhere."

"Elsewhere?"

"The trouble in Aix, at least what was mentioned over breakfast, is only the prelude. There is some serious animosity between the parties in other departments and districts."

"I s'pose we'll know more of the story soon once more news comes in over the next few days. I haven't read anything from as far as Toulon or even as far as Verdun."

Enjolras nodded pensively, glancing down briefly at their entwined hands. "Today there may be correspondents and officials of the commission on elections returning to Paris. They will have something to report."

"Speaking about far-off places, your mother mentioned something interesting," Eponine said. "You never said that you lived in Marseille for a short while."

The young man smiled a little wryly at the memory. "What about it?"

"She said you changed while you were there," she said amusedly. "I thought you were always this way."

He shook his head. "I'll tell you this before anyone else remarks on it: I was quite belligerent when I was still a schoolboy. Going to Marseille gave me something new to think about."

"What happened there?"

"My friends and I were to meet with two former deputies to the Convention." He took a deep breath, clearly trying to work through his own recollections. "We never got to meet them; one died unexpectedly in an accident, the other was taken in for assault. We spoke to their families and ended up staying there for a while to try to help them out since they were in a bad way. It was not about the money, since that would have been easy to solve with a letter or a few inquires; it was the courts, the doctors, fonctionnaires, all of that trouble. That was why we did not get to leave right away."

"Then?"

"Marseille is very different from Aix, Eponine," he began. "Marseille is a port town, as you know. All sorts of people come through there; troops from Algeria, refugees from all over, gypsies. Even the chain gang passes through there from other places. Stories. The sorts that one does not get at boarding school." The young man looked at her keenly, waiting for this to sink in. "We had to do a little work to help out our hosts. I even had to go down to the docks for three days to help unload some of the ships there. That was the most trying part."

Eponine cringed, remembering now Feuilly's own reluctance to detail his past in Marseille. Had Enjolras seen something similar especially during those days? Maybe it had been worse; she could think of several terrifying scenarios that could befall a handsome bourgeois boy in such circumstances. She drew closer to him, noticing the troubled look on his face. "That would be difficult to forget."

"It's more than remembering. It only affirmed what I was beginning to realize then about what could actually change things, something beyond charity."

"So in the end you went to Paris to study law and maybe help start a revolution."

"That is a succinct way of stating the outcome," Enjolras said dryly. "Why did you want to know?"

"Because you know perfectly well how I became this way, but I know rather little of yours!" she replied. "It's only fair, isn't it?"

"It is."

"Enjolras, you simply told me in a few moments what you've never told your parents," she said rather seriously. "I don't think most of our friends know."

"Only Combeferre and Courfeyrac. I told you because you asked," he replied, smiling briefly at her. He adjusted his grip on her hand so that he could rub circles on her wrist using his thumb. "You wouldn't make light of it."

Eponine nodded slowly before moving so that she was in front of him. "The secret is safe with me."

"It's not a secret, it's a story I simply do not relate so freely," he said as they finally reached the Tuilleries. "Will you be at the Rue des Macons the rest of the day?"

"No; I have to get some supplies at the market, and then I have to see Cosette. Then I'll be back in the Latin Quartier by afternoon. You?"

"Palais de Justice, then the house near the Place du Pantheon."

"Oh. You'll have to deal with Paquet."

"Naturally," he said. "You'd best avoid dealing with him in the interest of  _his_  welfare."

"He thinks he can scare a girl," Eponine said. "I'm not a girl; I'm some sort of Fury."

Enjolras smirked. "Not that. You're not as vengeful."

"Well, what am I then?"

"Let me think about it. Unlike Grantaire I do not like speaking in Greek metaphors." He let go of her hand but squeezed her shoulder lightly. "Later?"

"I wouldn't miss it," she said before they parted ways; him to board an omnibus and her to go to Les Halles. ' _This afternoon, tonight, I'll make sure of it,'_ she thought, feeling rather cheerful at this otherwise everyday exchange between them.

As she was purchasing some ink, she happened to catch sight of a familiar figure walking past. ' _What's Citizen Ravigard doing here?'_ she wondered. Who then was minding the bookshop? She watched him nod to a man in a sergeant's uniform, who then followed him into what appeared to be a sort of cafe. Eponine paused to survey the establishment and shook her head. If she stepped alone in this  _cabinet noir_ , she was sure she would not leave in one piece. ' _I'd go though if I'd brought my pistols,'_ she thought; regretting for once leaving them at home again. She reluctantly set off in the direction of the Marais, all the while mulling over this increasingly puzzling day.

When she arrived at the Rue des Filles du Calvaire, it was beginning to rain. Nicolette clucked her tongue at Eponine's sodden appearance but let her leave her coat to dry in the hall before showing her to where Cosette was going through a pile of books again.

"You wanted to see me, Cosette?" Eponine greeted her friend. "How have you been?"

Cosette nodded, looking up from her reading. "I'm well, aside from the fact I've been in need to talk to someone about these plans," she said, holding out a large notebook. "It's what I was thinking about doing for gamins. Do you think it will suffice?"

Eponine carefully looked over the journal where Cosette had listed the details for the shelter. She had to admit that her friend was very meticulous, to the point of even jotting down an inventory of supplies good for the shelter's first month. "Cosette, I thought you never did something like this before!"

"Papa did," Cosette said. "Besides I was a charity pupil at Picpus and I remember what the nuns did to care for girls like me and the others. I was thinking that I could even ask if a parish or convent could help take charge of this."

"Do you really want to deal with those?" Eponine joked as she handed back the notebook. "Old cassocks. That's what I see."

"Eponine! That is very irreverent," Cosette chided, though she didn't sound half as shocked as she probably intended.

"That's what they are."

"You're sounding like Bossuet." Cosette closed the notebook. "What do you think?"

"I s'pose that you could do it," Eponine replied thoughtfully. "Maybe I'll ask my brother what else gamins like?"

"That would be nice." Cosette put away the notebook and sat up primly. "Now I got Claudine's letter about the writing but she forgot to mention a bit of news that might help explain something that happened here yesterday."

Eponine's eyes widened. "Which is?"

Cosette sighed. "Theodule came by. He was rather out of sorts and he wouldn't talk to anyone except Aunt. He mentioned in passing that he came from the Hotel de Ville during the proclamation of the winners and he said he saw you and Enjolras..."

"What about..." Eponine trailed off before remembering the way she'd talked to him, and even how his hand had been at her back while they were listening for the announcement. There was no way that even a daft man could misconstrue that. ' _After what I did to Theodule, no wonder he wouldn't want to see that, 'she_  thought, though she couldn't say that she felt particularly sorry for it. She groaned when she saw Cosette's rather mischievous smile. "I don't s'pose that I'd call him my sweetheart; it's a little too silly. I was honest with him, he was honest with me. That is all," she explained.

"So you know that he's been in love with you for a while now?" Cosette asked.

"He didn't say it in that way," Eponine said. The truth was that she never could imagine such a phrase coming from him.  _'Perhaps it never will,'_ a nagging voice told her but she willed herself to ignore it. "I just know I mean something to him. It's so odd. It's not like one of those old romances."

"It shouldn't be. Those heroes don't exist, and they're hardly anything worth comparing to," Cosette chided. "Are you happy though?"

Eponine smiled. "I s'pose so. Especially if he's happy."

"Then that is what matters," Cosette said with a smile. She turned as if listening for something. "Papa is awake. If you can stay for a while for some tea, I'm sure he'd want to explain a bit more to you about the project. He's always happy to talk about these things lately."

Eponine glanced towards the window, which was covered in a sheet of rainwater. ' _Not as if I can go anywhere for a little while,'_ she thought as she nodded at her friend. "I may as well."


	49. Chapter 49: A Passkey May Appear as an Invitation

**Chapter 49: A Passkey May Appear as an Invitation**

It was a long acknowledged fact that Sundays were never considered 'days of rest' in the tenement at the Rue Jean-Jacques Rousseau, and the 17th of February was no exception. ' _It would have been a good day to actually get some sleep,'_ Enjolras thought as he carefully set down some heavy books next to his desk, taking care not to get dust on his shirtsleeves, or to drop anything on his bare feet. It was only half-past nine in the morning but he and his fellow tenants had already been up since before seven in order to see to help their concierge see to some chores that had been laid by the wayside for some time, such as getting rid of clutter or making a few necessary repairs, on pain of being banned from using the kitchen for the next few days. ' _Probably the best threat that could ever have been made,'_ Enjolras couldn't help thinking amusedly as he continued sorting through a pile of papers. After all it had been enough to put on hold any plans that Combeferre or the Thenardier siblings had for venturing out that day in favour of setting their respective quarters in order. Judging by the sounds of Combeferre moving furniture upstairs or Eponine's slightly tuneless singing downstairs, it didn't seem as if anyone would be leaving the house any time soon.

At length Enjolras heard a door creak open upstairs. "Do you need help there?" he called to Combeferre.

"No. I just needed some air," Combeferre replied. He was also still in his shirtsleeves, but he was going about in stocking feet. The physician whistled on seeing the piles of paper littering his friend's room. "Are you planning to move any of this to your office at the Hotel de Ville?"

"Only those so far," Enjolras said, gesturing to the pile of books next to his desk. "Will you still be keeping any of your collections here?"

"Most of them," Combeferre replied. "I might have to bring some books to the medical school, particularly if I am invited to fill in for one of the lecturers this coming March."

"That's a very good opportunity. I am sure it will materialize."

Combeferre nodded by way of acknowledgment. "Thank you. I have to write to Dr. Maturin; he was asked to make the recommendation."

"He chose well."

"It's not finalized yet-"Combeferre began before turning at the sound of footsteps in the hallway. "I see that someone is getting underfoot?" he asked concernedly.

"Something like it," Eponine replied, entering the room with Jacques in tow. Today she had her hair down and she was wearing a slightly worn out gray dress. Her harried expression brightened into a smile when she saw Enjolras. "It's impossible to really sit down and help Citizenness Leclair if I have to worry about him running about. At least Gavroche is helping and Neville is just reading in one place."

"What are you working on?" Enjolras asked, reaching out to brush Eponine's hair out of her face.

She caught his elbow and squeezed it lightly. "Fixing the door back on the big cabinet downstairs. I'd ask you to help but there's a lot you have to do here, obviously."

In the meantime Jacques made a face. "Ponine said I could stay up here with you," he announced.

Eponine sighed resignedly as she looked at Enjolras again. "It's the best I can think of, and I know he won't want to stay in my room since he's read most of  _his_  books and there's not much else he can do," she explained. "You won't mind too much if he's quiet, I hope?"

"It's fine. I'm more than halfway done with these papers anyway, so I might join you downstairs soon," Enjolras replied.

"It  _seems,"_ Combeferre chuckled, rolling his eyes knowingly. "If Neville wants to help upstairs too, he's more than welcome to come up. He knows where everything is," he said to Eponine.

Eponine smiled widely. "Oh thank you!" She wiped her hands on her skirt before looking at Jacques. "Now please be good,  _petit._ Enjolras is busy too," she said firmly to him.

Jacques nodded solemnly. "I'll be good."

Eponine ruffled her brother's hair before giving Enjolras a grateful look and then hurrying back downstairs. Combeferre took the opportunity to also return upstairs while Jacques lost no time in making himself comfortable on a chair. ' _I'd give this quiet only a minute,'_ Enjolras thought as he went back to his work, only to be proven right on hearing Eponine's raspy attempt at an aria from ' _The Barber of Seville.'_

Jacques cringed when his sister's voice went off-key again. "Why does Ponine have to sing that?"

"I don't know. Maybe you should ask her," Enjolras replied, managing to keep a straight face. ' _She probably learned that from either Musichetta or Paulette,'_ he thought. He didn't care particularly for the opera, but there was no avoiding it entirely owing to his friends' fondness for the theatre.

The little boy pouted as he swung his feet back and forth before scrambling off the chair and fetching a book. "Why doesn't this have pictures?"

"It's a book about law. It doesn't need pictures," Enjolras said, retrieving the volume and quickly putting it back on the nearest shelf.

"What's law?"

Enjolras paused, trying to form the simplest explanation possible. "Rules for many people and for countries," he finally said.

Jacques frowned. "Ponine says it's a lot of words that people argue about. Gavroche says it's something for putting in the stove."

"Yes, it's a lot of words, but no it's not for firewood."

"Do you have to read them all?"

"Yes actually."

Jacques' scowl only deepened. "I thought studying was only for school. Big people don't go to school."

"People still have to learn after going to school,  _petit._  Combeferre still studies so he can be a better doctor," Enjolras pointed out.

"Then I don't want to be a doctor or a lawyer anymore," Jacques said. He restlessly sat down again, this time drawing circles on the floor with his finger. "Why do some people want to hurt you and Ponine? She's always worried."

Enjolras sighed as he set down some papers. ' _Is it really that obvious?'_ he wondered, crouching so that he was at Jacques' eye level. "Sometimes we say things that people don't like and they get very angry," he said slowly.

"Are they bad people?"

"No they aren't. They just think a little differently."

Jacques nodded slowly. "But it's still bad to hurt someone?"

"It is. That's not the only thing they do though, so they aren't bad people," Enjolras reasoned. ' _How can anyone ever explain this to a child?'_ he wondered even as he heard footsteps in the hallway. "I thought I was to join you downstairs," he said dryly when he saw Eponine push the door open.

"I s'pose you will do just that, once your father is done visiting," she deadpanned. "We all look like such a mess today but he told me he still wants to come up!"

"At least you have your stockings on," he pointed out, beginning to straighten up the premises a little more hurriedly, returning books to the shelves almost haphazardly.

"The cold goes through my feet. So he's dropped in like this before?" Eponine asked as she helped him remove a pile of paper from a chair in order to free up the seat.

"A few times," Enjolras said moments before he caught sight of Louis walking up to the door, with the Thenardiers' cat following jauntily behind him. "Good morning Father," he greeted calmly.

"The same to you, Antoine," Louis said, smirking a little at his son's state of slight dishabille.

"Is Mother with you?"

Louis shook his head before bending to scratch the cat's head. "She's entertaining some old schoolfriends of hers, leaving a poor man in want of good company." He smiled at the small child watching them intently. "You must be little Jacques."

Jacques nodded. "Who are you? You look old."

It was all that Enjolras could do to keep from cringing. "He's my father," he told Jacques when he could speak again. "He's not that old either."

Eponine snorted before scooping up her brother and nudging the cat out the door with her foot. "We'll be downstairs again," she said to the two men.

"I'm sorry I have to deprive you of his company," Louis said to her.

"I've got the rest of Sunday for it," Eponine said with a confident grin before carrying a rather petulant Jacques out of the room.

Enjolras waited for her footsteps to fade before he looked to his father, who had a satisfied smirk on his face. "My apologies about the current...state of this place."

"Most people actually use Sundays for entertaining. I know you do not have that luxury," Louis reminded him. "I gather that the lodgings next to yours belong to Eponine and the boys, and that Combeferre still has the apartment upstairs?"

"Yes. It's a little cramped but we manage," Enjolras said, offering the chair he'd just cleared off.

"At least I am sure that you and Eponine still sleep in your own beds," Louis said seriously. "Is Gavroche really the name of the eldest boy? I hardly think that it would have been acceptable at a baptism."

"I have not heard him called by anything else," Enjolras said.

"I noticed that one of the boys, Neville, isn't it-has a wooden foot? What happened?"

"He got a wound on his foot, it suppurated, and Combeferre had to amputate," Enjolras replied, feeling a little uneasy at the memory.

Louis sucked in a breath through gritted teeth. "Poor child. Does he still attend school?"

"Combeferre tutors him," Enjolras said. ' _Though that might change soon,'_ he thought, remembering his friend's potential advancement.

Louis nodded slowly. "As a legislator, you're only entitled to a salary and nothing else? No change in living arrangements?"

"Just that. I don't see why I'd have to relocate either; this place has always been convenient."

"There's that. And the other obvious facts. You and Eponine are doing this entire situation backwards; most people bask in felicity first before moving on to flounder in domesticity. I see there's no other way it could have happened for the two of you."

"Necessity," Enjolras pointed out. "Is there anything else you wish to discuss?"

The older man brought four envelopes out of his coat pocket. "These are invites for a party this Tuesday evening, hosted by the Lafontaine family at the Rue de Constantinople. They are presently working with the consulates. If I recall one of the Lafontaine sons was also at the law school?"

"For a while," Enjolras said, recalling now a classmate with such a name.

"Your mother mentioned you to the Lafontaines; actually they still remember you and of course they know of the events of the campaign. In short, you and Eponine are now invited to the party. You both need to introduce yourselves to the circles outside of the Latin Quartier."

"And what are the two other invitations for?"

"For any friends of yours. Perhaps a colleague who is in need of an alliance with some businessmen or even some of our academics?"

"Perhaps," Enjolras said, carefully surveying the envelopes. ' _So this is how a limited opportunity looks,'_ he thought even as he heard an excited shriek from downstairs followed by running footsteps in the hallway. He stepped out just in time to catch Gavroche and Jacques trying to tackle Neville, who was squirming away while clutching a letter as if for dear life.

"What's this all about?" Enjolras asked, managing to extricate Neville from the bottom of the pile.

Neville stuck his tongue out at his brothers. "It's an important letter for Combeferre."

"We're going to give it," Gavroche groused.

"Your hands are dirty, Gavroche!" Jacques retorted.

"Now that's no excuse to go fighting, boys," Enjolras scolded, giving Jacques a stern look. The small boy looked down at his feet while Gavroche shrugged. After a few moments, Enjolras caught sight of Eponine on the stairs, biting her lip as if she was on the verge of laughing. "I don't see what's so amusing about this," he told her.

"You have no idea how you look," Eponine said mirthfully, placing a hand on his shoulder.

By this time Neville had scrambled up to Combeferre's room and was now handing the letter over. Combeferre had to wipe his spectacles before he carefully opened the letter. His eyes widened as he shook his head in disbelief. "This came just now, Neville?" he asked the boy.

Neville nodded. "Is it something good?"

"Very good," Combeferre said before going down the stairs two at a time to meet the rest of the group.

"News from the Academie des Sciences?" Louis asked, noticing the address on the envelope Combeferre was still clutching.

"Claudine and I submitted a treatise on the changes that can be made with light when it is passed through the tinted glasses we've been making. The work is going to be published by next month," he replied, his voice brimming with enthusiasm.

"Congratulations to both of you," Enjolras said, clapping Combeferre on the shoulder. It was just the sort of opportunity that his friends, especially Combeferre, needed. ' _It would help him secure that lecturer position,'_ he realized as everyone else congratulated the young doctor.

"So you're going to tell Claudine right away?" Eponine asked Combeferre.

"Yes. She should be at home today," Combeferre replied. "You can come along too and help me tell her," he said to Neville.

Neville grinned from ear to ear. "May I?" he asked, looking up at Eponine and Enjolras.

"I s'pose you should," Eponine replied. "I'll have to go there soon; I promised I'd see her about something we're supposed to write."

Louis nodded to his son. "You should accompany her."

"And you?" Enjolras asked.

"I'll impose on someone else unless you feel you need a chaperone."

Combeferre and Gavroche burst out laughing; more so on seeing that Enjolras had blanched while Eponine was cringing. "That is the last thing anyone has to worry about," Combeferre reassured Louis before hurrying upstairs to change his clothes. Eponine excused herself and Neville, leaving Enjolras in the hallway with his father and the two other young Thenardiers.

Jacques broke the silence first. "What's a chaperone?"

"It's someone who has to make sure that other people behave," Enjolras replied slowly.

"Silly  _mome_ , a chaperone is an old person who scares the birds," Gavroche said.

"You're a big person, why do you and Ponine need a chaperone?" Jacques asked, nearly getting tongue-tied over the word.

"Because sometimes when two big people are together, they don't always behave," Louis replied.

"Why?"

Enjolras gritted his teeth. "That wasn't the most appropriate answer, Father."

"Antoine, I remember another child whose favourite word was 'why'. Still probably is," Louis quipped.

Enjolras rubbed his temples even as he went into his room to get ready to go out. ' _At least the room looks mostly tenable again,'_ he thought, even as he listened to his father, Combeferre, and Neville making their way downstairs. In the meantime he pocketed some coins, his penknife, his passkey, as well as the invitations. Perhaps Combeferre and Claudine would be interested in the event.

Just as he was about to put on his shoes, he heard a knock on his door. "You don't have to go with me today if you have a lot to do, Antoine," he heard Eponine say from behind him.

"I'd only have a lot to do if I stepped out of the house," Enjolras replied candidly, turning to look at her. He saw that she was wearing her favourite green work dress and had already donned her gloves. ' _Courfeyrac is right, there will not be many more days like this,'_ he thought. "By the way this is for you," he said, handing one of the invitations to her.

Eponine's brow furrowed as she read through the invitation. "I s'pose I'll have to borrow something nice to wear. That would do?"

"I'm not an authority in those matters," Enjolras told her frankly.

She shrugged as she kicked one of his shoes in his direction. "There will be a lot of important people there. I know they'd like to talk with you since you're a legislator, but what am I to do there?"

"It will be a bit like a salon," he replied, picking up the shoe. "With a full dinner and some other amusement perhaps. I am not familiar though with how the Lafontaine family entertains."

Eponine laughed wryly. "I s'pose we shall be fine as long as we don't break anyone's feet while dancing or something terrible like that."

Enjolras nearly dropped the shoe he had been about to put on. "What does dancing have to do with it?"

"Isn't that what happens at these grand gatherings?" Eponine asked. "I don't know how to dance, at least in that proper sort of way. I have never seen you dance either."

"For a reason," Enjolras pointed out as he finished putting on his shoes.

She smirked. "Another story?"

"One that's best left for later, Eponine," he said. ' _She'll hear about those misadventures soon enough,'_ he decided; he wasn't about to deprive his father of the pleasure of discomfiting him even further with anecdotes of the months he spent in Aix after his return from Marseille. "Speaking of stories, my father was asking if Gavroche's name is really Gavroche?"

"Are you asking if that is the name my Maman gave him?" Eponine asked, absent-mindedly brushing some dust off Enjolras' coat. "I never heard her call him anything much besides 'boy' or 'imp' or something like that. I can't remember much at all, really."

"So what name is he using at school?"

"I had him registered as Gavroche. Why, you think we should ask my father about it?"

"If only to set the record straight."

"I am not sure my father would remember either. It's just as well that my brother named himself; if he could learn his actual name he'd never answer to it."

"I suspect that would be so," Enjolras said, taking her hand before they made their way downstairs.

Since Neville and Louis were joining them, it was quickly decided it would be best to travel via fiacre. When this motley group arrived at the Andreas residence in Picpus, they came across Claudine sending off a gruff tailor who'd just purchased some bolts of dark blue cloth. At the sight of her friends she slammed her ledger shut. "I was thinking of asking my father if I could visit you all today," she said by way of greeting. She nodded politely to Louis. "You're Enjolras' father, aren't you?"

"More properly known as Louis Enjolras," the older man said. "You must be Citizenness Andreas. My wife fervently admires your writing."

"Thank you. It's also a pleasure to meet the family of an old friend," Claudine said cordially. "My regards to Citizenness Enjolras. She is in town too?"

"She is. I hope you two can meet; she's particularly partial to bluestockings."

"I prefer the word 'academic'."

Combeferre laughed before approaching Claudine and pressing the letter into her hands. "Read it," he said, not hiding his smile.

Claudine unfolded the letter and read through it slowly. She carefully placed the letter on the counter and pressed her hands to her face, as if trying to find the words to say. Her eyes were glistening with disbelief as she looked at Combeferre. "You and me. My name?"

"Yes. You're going to get the by-line too, my dear," Combeferre said elatedly, kissing her hands.

"I never thought it was possible," Claudine whispered.

Neville watched them quizzically. "I thought you'd be happy," he said to Claudine.

"I am, Neville. That's why...what am I doing just standing here like this?" she laughed, wiping her eyes before picking up the missive again. "I should tell my father. He's just sitting down to his early lunch."

"Is he well today?" Combeferre asked.

"Better," Claudine replied, taking his hand and moving for her friends to follow her.

Enjolras and Eponine exchanged pensive looks as they hung back behind the rest of the group. "His shaking is never going to get better, is it? I saw it once when I visited," Eponine asked him in a whisper.

"Because there is no apparent cause to it," Enjolras explained. He could still remember how Claudine's father, Valentin Andreas, had been just a year and a half ago in the days before being gripped by a mysterious sort of shaking palsy that had forced him to take a backseat role in helping plan last year's uprising. It was easy to see how such a hearty and intellectual man could have brought up an insightful and keen woman such as Claudine. ' _Maybe this news will buoy him a little,'_ he thought as he and Eponine followed their friends.

In the next room, Louis was standing nearest the door, explaining a painting to Neville. In the meantime Claudine and Combeferre were reading out the letter to a rather frail looking, balding man who was propped up in a large chair. Although he wore thick spectacles, Valentin's eyes seemed unfocused, as if he was hardly seeing anything in front of him. He looked up on hearing Enjolras and Eponine enter the room. "Who's there?" Valentin asked.

"Enjolras and Eponine," Claudine replied.

Valentin nodded. "How are you two getting on? Congratulations on the election by the way, Enjolras."

"Thank you. Everything is well," Enjolras replied. "How are you, Citizen?"

"Better, after hearing the news. I knew that endeavour would go well," Valentin said slowly. "It's one of the best things a man in my state can ask for in these days."

Claudine shook her head. "You'll hear better news, Father. Please do not talk like that, "she said.

"There is no medicine for this-"Valentin said, holding up one trembling finger to the side of his head. "Go talk with Eponine about your plans, my dear."

The younger woman looked up at the sound of her name. "What plans, Claudine?"

"A new thing that some of the ladies in the neighbourhood want to start. I have to finish something up at the front of the shop, we can talk there," Claudine said, motioning to her friend.

Louis watched this with amazement. "Was your daughter always such a scholar?" he asked Valentin as soon as the women were out of the room.

"Yes. More than making up for her brother, God rest him," Valentin replied in a melancholy voice.

Louis nodded sympathetically. "It appears as if you will gain a remarkable son-in-law."

"Let me likewise congratulate you on your future daughter-in-law," Valentin said, smiling briefly.

Combeferre sighed knowingly at this exchange while Enjolras shook his head. On seeing this, Louis raised an eyebrow. "I was under the impression that you young men do not take these things lightly."

"That is correct. I am in no position yet to make such a proposal," Combeferre said.

"When will you be?" Valentin asked him.

' _This discussion is premature,'_ Enjolras thought as he listened to Combeferre explain to Valentin his possible new academic situation. He met Louis' questioning gaze. "I have not known her that long," he said after a while.

"Some couples have been happily married even when barely knowing each other," Louis replied. "Besides, your mother and I aren't getting any younger. We'd at least like to see you happy."

"I never was unhappy," Enjolras pointed out. ' _Reserved yes, but that could not always be helped,'_ he decided. Yet perhaps he could get used to living in a more unguarded fashion, especially with someone who also had her own barriers to renegotiate.

After a while Eponine and Claudine returned, with Claudine carrying the ledger she'd been working on. "So what is this new plan of yours?" Combeferre asked them.

"More writing and some organizing," Claudine replied blithely as she handed the ledger to Valentin. "In short, making sure that the legislature will follow through with the laws to ensure that women are treated well in their workplaces."

"A petition?" Enjolras asked.

"Something more. You might find ladies asking to sit in and listen to committee meetings," Eponine said.

"More likely you will have a special hearing on your own to help write the law and we legislators will have no choice but to hear you out," he deadpanned.

"Oh, that would be quite a sight. Fewer arguments."

"To a point."

Louis chuckled. "This can be construed as taking advantage of gallantry."

Enjolras only smirked while the rest of the group laughed. He brought out the invitations and held them out to Combeferre and Claudine, even as he explained the matter to them. "I believe you two might be interested in attending," he concluded.

Combeferre shook his head remorsefully. "Unfortunately I have a meeting at the Necker that evening," he said. "You should ask Feuilly; he would enjoy the chance to meet some people."

"The Lafontaines are interested in diplomacy; it is possible he already has an invitation," Claudine observed. "As for me I also have an appointment on Tuesday. So my apologies."

"Courfeyrac then," Combeferre suggested.

"That isn't happening," Claudine said, shaking her head.

"Why so?"

"Paulette would object," Eponine explained. "I s'pose we can ask any of the others; they'd enjoy being in such a place."

Louis cleared his throat. "Not just anyone. Now I like you all well enough, but it is possible other people do not, or worse, they know nothing of any of you. This is even more crucial than, say, taking the stand during a trial. Crimes are sometimes easier to exonerate than a bad impression."


	50. Chapter 50: Artifices

**Chapter 50: Artifices**

"This dress better not slip off my shoulders when Jehan and I dance later."

Despite the fact that she had been told to stay as still as possible to keep her hair in place, Eponine burst out giggling at her sister's comment. "It would have to be a terribly clumsy thing or a badly sewn dress," she pointed out, watching as Azelma preened in front of a mirror in Musichetta's apartment. It was a little past six in the evening, just an hour before the soiree at the Lafontaine residence.

"Which yours  _isn't_ , I'm sure! I made sure to alter it right," Paulette muttered as she helped Eponine twist and pin back some unruly strands of hair. The older girl surveyed her handiwork for a moment and sighed. "That will have to do; I wish you had thought of curling your hair this morning, Eponine. I know you haven't the time to but it would have made things a little easier."

"I would if I could find the tongs I bought a few days ago," Eponine said, smoothing out the skirt of her green dress. ' _I'm pretty sure that Gavroche hid them,'_ she thought a little petulantly; it was just like her brother to play a practical joke at the most inopportune moments.

"You'd better do it for my wedding," Musichetta chimed in as she helped Azelma adjust the light blue sash that set off her purple gown. "I'll help you two get lovely dresses; we just need one afternoon to settle on the cloth and take measurements."

"When we're done with  _your_  wedding gown," Paulette said to Musichetta. "Finding that specific lace you want for the sleeves isn't easy, you know!"

"It's the only trim that will set them off nicely," Musichetta replied.

' _Will anyone aside from Joly notice it?'_ Eponine wondered as she heard the door opening. "Good evening Bossuet," she called to the newcomer.

Bossuet's brow crinkled with amusement as he realized how many visitors were in the apartment. "I see I have interrupted the ladies' toilette. Forgive me," he said cheerily as he entered the room.

"Oh, just a matter of hair," Musichetta said cheerily. "You're back early from the Palais de Justice."

"No, La Force actually. I had to assist one of the younger licentiates there," Bossuet explained. "He found himself in a Styx's worth of paper, the poor boy."

"What sort of case was it?" Eponine asked curiously.

"A property case that should have been a necromancer's territory," Bossuet replied.

"So you're working as a clerk nowadays?" Paulette asked.

Bossuet's expression turned wry. "In the past tense, unfortunately. I'm afraid my commission has ended and I will have to seek employment again."

Eponine bit her lip. "Aren't you worried?"

Bossuet smiled wryly. "Should I be? I am the Eagle of Meaux, and I already have an eyrie."

"With that very affectionate Citizenness Marthe Blanchard," Musichetta quipped.

"Ah her," Bossuet said with a grin. "If you must look for a term, my mistress," he explained to the rest of the group.

"Why haven't you ever introduced her to the rest of us?" Paulette demanded, unconsciously placing a hand on her stomach. "You are almost as secretive as Grantaire."

"I am still trying to convince her," Bossuet replied with a shrug. He set down the papers he was carrying and stretched till he heard a cracking sound from his back. "Is Joly still in search of his new stays?" he asked Musichetta.

Azelma's eyes widened. "Joly wears them?"

Musichetta nodded. "For his health, particularly to support his back. I am sure it's not comfortable but you hardly see him slouch and he looks smarter that way. And no, Bossuet, he hasn't found them,"

"I know some of Jehan's friends wear those but that's just when they are playing at parts. I thought he was naturally shaped that way," Azelma said.

"Most men aren't," Paulette said nonchalantly.

Bossuet burst out laughing while Musichetta snorted. "Does Courfeyrac have to be laced up every day?"Musichetta asked after a while.

Paulette counted on her fingers. "Perhaps thrice a week. I'm sure the other young men we know also do the same thing when they intend to be fashionable."

"Not Feuilly," Bossuet pointed out. "I am sure that Bahorel wouldn't either."

Azelma shrugged while Paulette gave Bossuet a sceptical look. "I doubt there is any other way he can get his chest to be so grand," Paulette finally said.

"I guess that Grantaire is much the same way," Azelma said. "Meaning he does wear one."

Bossuet grinned by way of agreement. "I think Prouvaire has a good story about that one."

"Which he hasn't told me yet!" Azelma said indignantly.

Paulette shook her head. "Does Combeferre also agree with those health reasons?"

"The question would be is if someone would help him there," Eponine pointed out, trying not to laugh at the idea of Combeferre asking either Claudine or Enjolras for help with lacing stays.

Azelma smiled at her sister slyly. "What about-"

"I don't watch him get ready for the day," Eponine replied quickly as she pulled on her gloves.

"I can't believe you don't! But what do you think?" Paulette asked disappointedly over the laughter of the rest of the group.

"You can guess, and so can I," Eponine quipped. Even so, a small smile crossed her face as she remembered all the mornings she'd seen Enjolras come down to breakfast in his shirtsleeves. ' _He definitely does not need that sort of lacing up,'_ she thought even as she heard the distinct sounds of several gentlemen conversing outside the apartment.

"Patrice is on time, but Prouvaire and Enjolras are early," Musichetta remarked. She grinned as she looked at Eponine. "I'm certain that Enjolras won't be able to take his eyes off you tonight."

"Only for a moment; he's got other interesting people he has to speak to," Eponine said moments before the door swung open again. She pushed her chair back to let Musichetta go over to greet Joly with a kiss. Meanwhile Azelma was also giving Prouvaire a similarly enthusiastic greeting, only to end up blushing deeply when the poet complimented her on her appearance.

After a few moments she met Enjolras' bemused, almost quizzical smile. Although this was not the first time she had ever seen him in elegant attire, specifically his best tailcoat and a well-tied cravat, she somehow felt some warmth in her face and in her chest just from looking at him. ' _How does he do it?'_ she wondered as she met him. She took one of his hands in both of hers. "Will this do?"

"It's rather becoming," he said, approval evident in his tone. "Fortunately neither of us is at that gathering to attract much attention."

She shook her head. "It's impossible with you. Today at work, Odette, Emile, and at least two other fellows coming in for their translations said that you were the man of the hour. Someone everyone looks to, I s'pose."

"Given the circumstances of this evening, that is not entirely reassuring," Enjolras said. He squeezed Eponine's hand as he looked to where Azelma giggling loudly while she leaned in close to Prouvaire. "Discretion would be advisable in these circumstances."

"I did tell her to behave a little," Eponine replied a little anxiously. ' _Prouvaire was happy to receive the invitation since he's also friends with the Lafontaines, but of course he wouldn't go without Azelma,'_ she thought as she checked once again that she'd brought her passkey, the invitation, and enough francs to help pay for a fiacre ride. "Azelma will be fine if no one acts silly."

"At least there is that," Enjolras said confidently before he went to converse with Bossuet, Prouvaire, and Joly.

In the meantime Paulette tapped Eponine's shoulder. "Try to enjoy it a little, Eponine. It's not every day that girls like us get such grand invitations," she advised. "You're not alone either; I know that Feuilly and his girl Leonor will be there too. And you said that Enjolras' parents will be there and they like you."

"I s'pose I could try," Eponine said bravely, also now looking at Musichetta. "Thank you for helping me and Azelma."

"Any time; you'd do the same for me. Now shoo before you're all late!" Musichetta laughed. "You wouldn't want to miss the dancing!"

Despite her now renewed apprehension, Eponine still managed a smile before bidding Paulette, Bossuet, Musichetta, and Joly goodbye and then following Enjolras, Prouvaire, and Azelma out the door and downstairs to find a fiacre.

It was a long way to the Lafontaines' house at Rue de Constantinople, which was practically on the other side of Paris from the Rue Jean Jacques Rousseau. In fact Eponine was almost afraid she would fall asleep during the trip there; a calamity that was fortunately averted by Prouvaire and Azelma's ebullient conversation as well as by Enjolras' occasional remarks. Nevertheless she felt considerably more enlivened as the carriage approached a large, brightly lit manor that had its yard and front gates decorated with intricate lanterns in varying colors of glass. It was apparent that the intent was for the guests to pass through the gardens instead of being driven up to the front doors. ' _Which is just as well since the fiacre can only go so far,'_ Eponine thought with relief as she alighted from the carriage. She was thankful that even with the lanterns set up all over the premises, that there were still enough shadows to hide the plainness of her gown and the fact that she probably had not applied enough rouge to her cheeks.

Azelma's eyes were wide as she took in their grandiose surroundings. "Do they keep the gardens like this every night?"

"Perhaps not; this grandeur would weary the eyes out every day," Prouvaire replied. He craned his neck and looked to where a trio of people were conversing near one of the garden paths. "Feuilly is here, with Leonor. They're with Auguste Lafontaine."

In a few moments Feuilly spotted the newcomers and eagerly motioned for them to come over. He was wearing his best dark blue suit, while Leonor had on a dress in a lighter tint of blue. "I knew you'd all be punctual," the former fan maker said. "Enjolras, Prouvaire, I am sure you two and Citizen Lafontaine surely remember each other from the Sorbonne?"

"Yes, certainly," Enjolras said cordially. "It's been some time, Lafontaine."

A broad, open grin spread across Auguste Lafontaine's face, making him seem even younger than his twenty-five years. He was a tall, dark haired fellow with a formidable build that was only accentuated by the excellent tailoring of his suit. "How the world has changed since then," he replied. He bowed politely to Eponine. "I am pleased to finally make your acquaintance, Citizenness Thenardier."

Eponine managed a nod, despite being taken aback for a moment. "You too as well, Citizen Lafontaine. Are you also a practicing attorney?" she asked.

"Only in my ambitions, sadly," Auguste replied. He nodded to Prouvaire. "How is your next literary success coming?"

"It is still being spun," Prouvaire replied cheerily. "I am seeking to venture into another sort of drama."

Auguste laughed merrily. "Your muse?" he asked, indicating Azelma.

"A Grace actually," Prouvaire said before proceeding to make the appropriate introductions. "As you probably have guessed, she is the younger sister of Citizenness Eponine Thenardier," he finished.

"Citizen Feuilly, are they also acquainted with-"Auguste asked, looking to Leonor.

"We are," Leonor said, smiling at Eponine and Azelma. "It is impossible for women to be actively involved within the  _Radicaux_  party without making each other's acquaintance."

"Actively involved and vocal," Feuilly said.

"Almost synonymous," Leonor pointed out. "What do you think, Eponine?"

Eponine's eyes widened at this sudden friendly turn but before she could address Leonor, she heard a distinctly melodious, almost crooning voice call for Auguste. In a few moments a trio of young women approached the group. The two younger girls had dark hair and were dressed in nearly identical white gowns. They seemed to be perhaps only a year or two older than Eponine. The third and oldest of this group was rather petite in build but more than made up for her height with her well formed face and her richly coiffed flaming red hair. She was wearing a lavish diamond necklace comprised of several pendants interspersed with silver filigree.

"I was about to make my way indoors, my dears," Auguste said to the women. "My friends, I'd like you to meet my wife Angelique, and my sisters Justine and Cerise," he said, first nodding to the redheaded woman, then to the two brunettes before proceeding to introduce the rest of the group.

"It's not every day that my husband is allowed to invite his more progressive friends over," Angelique remarked after the introductions. "It's a relief to finally speak to someone young enough so as not to have some hoary story about the Corsican's rule."

"Unfortunately much of the talk so far has been rather...nostalgic," Auguste said uneasily.

"Nostalgic! It's boring!" Cerise, the older of the Lafontaine girls, blurted out. Her smile was coy, more so when her deep eyes looked in Enjolras' direction. "I'd rather much talk about the new politics. It must be fascinating to be the youngest legislator in Paris. I heard that you make the most excellent speeches-"

Eponine gritted her teeth on hearing the increasingly ingratiating tone in Cerise's voice, but she had to bite back a surprised laugh when she saw Enjolras' expression turn stern, which was somehow enough to make Cerise stammer out what sounded like an apology before quickly retreating behind her sister. "Enjolras, she was only asking," Eponine quipped, reaching over to grasp his elbow lightly.

"On matters that are hardly pleasantries," Enjolras said dryly.

"You don't have to be  _that_  polite here with your conversation," Auguste joked. "We run a more liberal household now."

"Perhaps you gentlemen ought to continue in this vein while the ladies and I continue to be more social," Angelique cut in. "Shall we?" she said to the women.

Azelma nodded gleefully before quickly going to talk with Justine Lafontaine, even before Auguste and the gentlemen could excuse themselves. As Angelique led the way to the house, Eponine quickly noticed that Leonor was trailing behind the group, clutching her purse tightly. "I s'pose you weren't expecting this?" Eponine asked her worriedly.

Leonor's thin lips quivered in a half-smile. "I wouldn't know what sort of politics to talk about with them. They do not stand exactly on the same ground we do." She cast an envious glance towards where Auguste was now introducing Feuilly, Enjolras, and Prouvaire to some diplomats. "Them, I know though. I'd rather find out what Gilles will be busy with after he leaves in two days."

"Maybe someday you'll get to travel with him too," Eponine suggested. "It would be a lovely thing."

"Perhaps on a less risky venture," Leonor said. She fiddled with the string that held her purse shut. "I'm only learning a little about diplomacy—who to talk to at least; it's an absolute headache and I am not sure how Gilles will stand it. But he seems eager, and who am I to stop him?"

Eponine shrugged. "I think he'll do well. He's not going alone."

Leonor looked down for a moment. "I heard that you and Claudine are helping organize a sort of group for ladies, to address concerns about employment," she said after a while.

"More of making sure that the legislators will write the laws they promised they would," Eponine said. She swallowed hard before looking at Leonor again, already guessing what the other girl had in mind. "I s'pose you now want to do with it?"

"Of course. Are you going to refuse?" Leonor asked a little worriedly.

"I do not have a reason to," Eponine replied candidly. It was impossible to disregard the fact that Leonor knew her way about and had the means of reaching certain groups and individuals who would be interested in this venture. ' _I only hope we won't argue too much,'_ she thought. Yet even so, it was good to finally speak with her less acrimoniously.

Leonor nodded before glancing towards where Angelique was watching them impatiently from the door of the house. "We have to stop being impolite," she said with a long-suffering sigh.

"Do we have a choice?" Eponine asked, willing herself to remember Paulette's admonition even as they went to where Angelique was showing the other ladies to a small cloakroom. It was just as well, since their young hostess lost no time in introducing Eponine and Leonor to the various ladies present at the ball. It became rather difficult after a time for Eponine to remember all the names of the dignitaries present, except for those that she had already heard of in the news or had met during the campaign. Nevertheless she did her best to try to recall as many personalities as she could, knowing that she was likely to have to meet with them if only to help further what she, Claudine, and now Leonor had in mind. However what grew more disconcerting than this flurry of high society was the distinct feeling she had of being watched, or even looked over by each person she was introduced to. ' _Not in the same way an inspector would watch,'_ Eponine decided. It was as if her very name, if not her face, was being held up against some unknown measure that she feared she would never be able to fathom.

In the middle of a spirited conversation with some older salonnieres, the strains of a merry quadrille began to fill the air. "I hope you will enjoy the dancing here; we have some excellent musicians tonight," Angelique told her guests. "Do you dance often, Citizennesses?"

"Occasionally," Leonor replied a little cheerily.

Eponine shook her head. "I haven't the occasion to."

"You should try it, at least for enjoyment's sake. Besides it's a permissible sort of exercise," Angelique said. "You shouldn't lack for partners tonight."

Eponine didn't say anything to this, more so when she caught sight of her sister and Prouvaire already joining a group of couples. She noticed that a good many of these dancers were in uniform; someone had thought of inviting a whole company of lancers to this gathering. She smiled though on seeing how Azelma danced; she had always been rather light of feet but now that quality of hers seemed to fit well here as it once did on the streets. Azelma was laughing as she looked past Prouvaire and caught her sister's eye. She made a motion for Eponine to join them but the older girl shook her head. ' _Maybe not this particular dance,'_ Eponine thought, noticing the intricate steps of the quadrille. There was no way she could acquit herself in the ballroom at least during this particular song. Neither could she during the next dance, a merry polonaise. This time Leonor and Feuilly joined the group, leaving Eponine to watch from the periphery.

After a while she caught sight of Enjolras making his way to her. "I see that for now, much of your useful conversation has ended," she said to him by way of greeting.

"In favour of entertainment. It is only natural," Enjolras said. "I spoke with some of the diplomats that Feuilly will be working with. They have a great deal to set straight while they are in England, though I have no doubt Feuilly will manage well."

"Anyone else?" she asked eagerly, stepping closer so that they were side by side. She grasped his shoulder lightly. "What about someone who could help you with the things you will do with the legislature next month?"

"Yes; a few lawyers and some scholars, as well as Chateaubriand himself. They have a number of interesting points of law that they wish to discuss at a more opportune moment. Within the week, I should hope," Enjolras said. He touched her wrist. "How have you been?"

"Busy trying to remember every name and face of all these ladies," Eponine replied. "I should hope not to make a mistake when I meet these people again."

"It takes practice to commit them to memory."

"I s'pose. Aren't you going to dance? There are many other women in the room without partners."

Enjolras gave her a sidelong glance. "You are referring to women who could do with a better partner. What about you?"

She shrugged. "What dances I remember from Montfermeil are hardly appropriate here. I have to simply watch and hope I keep up if anyone dares to ask me."

"That is bold," Enjolras commented approvingly. His brow furrowed a moment later as he noticed a figure walking up to them. "Good evening, Citizen Paquet."

The older man nodded almost mockingly to the pair. "I see you are both being unsociable, especially for a couple that is being discussed rather eagerly in these rooms."

"We are merely taking a respite," Enjolras replied coolly.

"I see," Paquet sneered. "Would you care then for a dance, Citizenness Thenardier?"

"I must refuse since I do not know how to dance," Eponine said bluntly.

Paquet's lip curled in an expression of distaste. "I had expected that even you would show some semblance of refinement. You ought to watch your manners, young lady."

"When I am not watching my back."

"Are you threatening me?" Paquet hissed.

"No, and I don't see why I should," she said, even as she felt Enjolras' hand close about her arm, as if warning her. "I s'pose you should quickly seek another partner," she told Paquet more civilly.

"That can wait," Paquet replied. "It is very wise of you to come to this ball and make new alliances. After all one has to prepare for the eventuality of Lafayette vacating his seat."

"It would be more prudent and necessary to prepare for serving in other capacities," Enjolras replied, not even bothering to hide his disapproval of this remark. "As to alliances, this is hardly a time to be making more enemies."

"You may think that you can be dismissive now that the election is won. I will still be watching what you do, Enjolras. And the same goes for the girl," Paquet said darkly. "I may not have been elected but I am still the party's main delegate here in Paris. You would do well to remember that I will not allow the ambitions of a schoolboy and a common thief to ruin all I've worked for."

Eponine felt her hands ball up painfully into fists at this jibe. When she risked a glance at Enjolras, she saw that he was still impassive but the fury in his eyes was clear. "If it is deference you wish for, you may seek it elsewhere," Enjolras said at last. "You will not hear it here."

Paquet cursed under his breath before turning on his heel and stalking off to where a group of men, obviously his cronies, waited. Eponine glared at his retreating back and crossed her arms. "All the trouble, coming all the way here to make a threat!" she whispered vehemently after a while.

"He knows his opportunities," Enjolras pointed out. "We could not counter him in the usual fashion under these circumstances."

"People came here to dance, not to listen to a debate," Eponine quipped, earning her a wry smile from Enjolras. She noticed a flash of color at the edge of her vision and turned to see another familiar figure talking with a richly dressed woman who she vaguely recalled as being introduced as Auguste Lafontaine's mother. "Your mother is here, Antoine," Eponine said, leaning in close so that she would not be overheard.

"Yes, and conversing with the actual lady of the house," Enjolras added, his hand coming to rest on her shoulder as he met her rather wary gaze. "It's best that we do not interrupt-"

It happened that at that moment Monique turned and caught sight of them. "Ah there you two are!" she greeted, motioning for them to come over. "I thought I'd have to wait for the dancing to be over before I could find either of you."

The elderly woman speaking with Monique eyed Enjolras and Eponine sceptically. "Ah yes. The legislator and his...friend," she said. "My daughter-in-law introduced you earlier," she added, looking at Eponine.

"I s'pose so," Eponine said, only to see Citizenness Lafontaine's eyebrows shoot up and her lip curl. The feeling of being scrutinized now turned into something hotter, almost akin to that of being stripped bare in public. ' _What did I do?'_  she wondered.

Enjolras cleared his throat. "We only came to greet you. My apologies for the interruption," he said.

"On the contrary, I need to speak with Citizenness Thenardier. Could you please help Citizenness Lafontaine find her son? It will not be a long chat," Monique said before motioning for Eponine to follow her to another side of the ballroom.

"I hope you're enjoying yourself, my dear," Monique said after a while. "How do you find it so far?"

"I've met some interesting persons. I don't get that sort every day," Eponine replied. "Was there something wrong in how I spoke with that lady?"

"She's rather particular about pronunciation since she received strict instruction. Don't bother yourself with that too much," Monique explained. Her smile turned mischievous after a moment. "How many times have you and Antoine danced together tonight?"

"None yet," Eponine said nonchalantly.

Monique's eyes widened before she let out an exasperated sigh. "What is he thinking, being so reserved on a night like this?"

"Only when it comes to dancing," Eponine explained.

"You should convince him to dance with you."

"It doesn't quite suit me either; we'd become the two biggest sillies at this soiree."

"You both ought to learn for the sake of social graces," Monique scolded lightly. "Sometimes I will never understand that boy. I don't think I've understood him in so long..." she trailed, twisting a lace handkerchief between her fingers.

"I don't understand him all the time either, and I s'pose I never will not even if he told me everything," Eponine remarked.

Monique paused before looking at Eponine, but this time with a pained light of realization in her eyes. "So he told you about what happened in Marseilles?" she asked in a low voice.

"Because I asked," Eponine said slowly, already resolving not to divulge Enjolras' secret.

"That impossible boy! Could you..."

"I s'pose you should ask him. I don't think I should say it."

Monique shook her head. "All these years, not a single word or mention of it, even if he knew that I was worried about him. Now he tells you so easily. That is not how it should be."

"I wanted to know," Eponine said, suddenly feeling unnerved at the woman's vehemence. She swallowed hard when she saw that Monique was still silent. "I had to know. I live with him and I s'pose it is a part of why he is-"

"I'm his  _mother_ ," Monique snapped bitterly. She wiped at her face, frowning at the rouge that came off on the handkerchief. "You should go back to the dance, Eponine," she said after a few moments.

"Should I ask Antoine to talk to you?" Eponine asked tentatively.

"I have to be alone for a little while before I see him. Do not worry about me," Monique replied before taking a deep breath and making her way to a nearby door, slamming it more sharply than what would normally have been proper.

Eponine shut her eyes and leaned against the nearest wall, now wishing desperately that she could either leave the soiree or that perhaps someone would ask her to dance. ' _Then I wouldn't say anything that could cause trouble,'_ she thought. Even so she stood on tiptoe in an attempt to try to locate Enjolras, Azelma, Prouvaire, Feuilly, Leonor, or just any other familiar face in the crowd. The middle of the room was full of couples lining up for a dance, while the periphery was abuzz with groups of people talking uproariously, thus making her task quite impossible at the moment. In the middle of this confusion she heard someone mention that refreshments were already being served. ' _Will they serve something of a proper dinner here?'_ she wondered, managing to get a slice of cake, followed by a single glass of wine. If ever that was to be the case, it probably would not happen for another hour or two, at the earliest.

As Eponine set down her half- full glass, she realized that she was being eyed by another familiar face. ' _Who didn't the Lafontaines invite?'_ she wondered, fighting to keep a calm, civil expression as she nodded to Theodule in a barely polite acknowledgment.

Instead of smiling, the lancer raised an eyebrow and strode over to her. "It's hardly a surprise to see you here, Eponine," he greeted in a voice devoid of its usual bluster and merriment.

"Is it,  _Citizen Gillenormand_?" Eponine said, placing emphasis on the form of address. She stood up straight and picked up her glass. "I'm afraid I'll make poor conversation for you this evening."

"A pity. I saw you eagerly conversing with the rest of the party earlier," Theodule said. His mustache twitched as he regarded her, as if he was satisfied to have caught her off-guard. "I saw you at the Hotel de Ville a few days ago."

"I know. Cosette told me," Eponine replied curtly, trying to step away only to have Theodule block her path. She pushed at him with one hand. "Let me pass."

"If you can answer one question for me," Theodule said, bitterness now lacing his voice.

"I already told you why I am not marrying you."

"Not that. Why did you suddenly choose Citizen Enjolras?"

Eponine gaped at Theodule in disbelief at his audacity. "What is it to you?" she asked, fighting the urge to upend her glass of wine over his head.

"Because I know that once, you would have gladly chosen my cousin. Then me," Theodule said. He tugged at his mustache. "You have always aimed high, Eponine. Is he just another bourgeois boy...?"

"He's a  _legislator_ ," Eponine retorted.

Theodule waved this away. "What I mean to ask if he is simply another man in a string of affections?"

"A string?"

"Or at least the latest in three and all that within the span of a year?"

Eponine hastily took another sip of her wine, hoping that the heat in her cheeks could be ascribed to her suddenly imbibing. "I don't think this is your place to ask, Citizen," she said firmly.

"Not so long ago, I was convinced you would have given me a favourable response," Theodule said, as if he did not hear her response. "I would not have pursued my suit if you had been less forthcoming. It was always my intention to do so, once I returned from Dijon."

"It never seemed so."

"Perhaps you have simply grown attached to Citizen Enjolras, mainly because of your situation?"

She shook her head even as she tried to sidestep past him again. "You would not understand."

Theodule laughed bitterly. "I know you had some affection for me, however fleeting. I am not a fool; I have reason enough to believe that it could end the very same way again between you and him."

Eponine set aside her wineglass. "You do not know that."

"I only know how quickly you can change, almost like the seasons. A year from now, who will I see you with?" he asked. He looked over his shoulder towards where some of his companions were gesturing to him. "I must go. Good evening to you, Eponine."

Eponine was silent as she watched the lancer walk off to rejoin his friends. ' _He shouldn't say such things,'_  she told herself over and over as she took a seat. Yet after a while the question no longer had the cadence of his voice but now it was her own. She took a few deep breaths as she watched the assembled company, letting the chatter and music blur into a continuous cacophony in her head. Somewhere she heard a clock strike the hour; it was already past ten.  _'Still far too early an evening,'_ she thought, willing herself to get to her feet so she could rejoin her companions.


	51. Chapter 51

**Chapter 51: Confronting Truth**

It was just as fortunate for Enjolras that the lady of the Lafontaine house was not particularly intent on making conversation with him; otherwise he might have found it impossible to rejoin the rest of the guests. He was sure that he could have found his way back to the ballroom even with his eyes closed; the hearty strains of the mazurka, the steps and bustle of the dancers and spectators, and even the hubbub of people were almost palpable. ' _In such a situation though, an extended conversation is rather difficult,'_ he noted as he surveyed the crowd. He immediately spotted Feuilly and Leonor among the dancers, as well as Prouvaire and Azelma talking to the Lafontaine girls. He felt a little uneasy on noticing that his mother and Eponine were still seemingly absent from this revelry. ' _Perhaps they are discussing some points of politics,'_ he thought as he stepped aside to avoid treading on a lady's gown.

He heard someone call his name and he turned to see his friend Rossi waving to him. Rossi was with a rather sallow-looking man with a shock of gray hair that almost covered his eyes. "Enjolras, may I introduce our colleague Citizen Gabriel Mathieu," Rossi said eagerly. "Citizen Mathieu, meet Citizen Enjolras," he said in turn to his companion.

"A pleasure to meet you, Citizen. Congratulations on your winning the election," Enjolras said cordially, recognizing the name of the new representative from the Chaillot district.

Mathieu shook his hair out of his eyes before nodding politely to Enjolras. "I hear you are already well prepared for our first day in office," he remarked. "I cannot expect any less from someone who has more than acquitted himself in this very eventful campaign."

' _Eventful being an understatement,'_ Enjolras thought, recalling some of the nearly lethal turns that the campaign had taken. "Perhaps the coming weeks will prove to be more fortuitous," he said.

"I fear you may be disappointed especially with all these continued factions that will make passing any law akin to putting a camel through an eye of a needle," Mathieu pointed out. "I thought your experiences in the past few weeks would have made it clear enough."

"Enjolras is an eternal idealist," Rossi explained to Mathieu. "He strives for nothing less than the best possible outcome."

"That is an interesting perspective to bring into public service," Mathieu mused, looking Enjolras over from head to toe. His cracked lips twisted slightly as he gestured to where the mazurka was now ending. "This soiree must be quite startling for some of your fellow  _Radicaux_  members."

Enjolras raised an eyebrow knowing that this was probably a reference to Feuilly and Leonor, who were within Mathieu's line of sight. "Should it be?"

"Perhaps not. It only stands to reason that you will have little time for such diversions," Mathieu commented. "I heard talk that one of the first things you will be seeing to is the issue of reforming the penal code and abolishing the death penalty?"

"It is."

"Is that going to encompass all instances, even when the interest of public safety may be compromised?" the older man asked.

Rossi paled slightly at these words. "I don't like the term public safety."

"It is a much abused phrase," Enjolras answered. "The time for using violence as an immediate means of securing the common good is now at an end. Lasting freedom must be founded on agreement, not merely the silencing of discord."

Mathieu nodded slowly. "At least you are cognizant of history."

Before either of the young men could say anything to this, a screech sounded from one end of the ballroom. A crowd was gathering around where a man had apparently been knocked to the ground in a sort of scuffle. An elderly physician was already at the scene, trying to assist the victim.

Rossi blanched at this sight. "I didn't hear a challenge."

"Perhaps there wasn't one," Enjolras replied, aware now of Auguste shouting from someplace for help while other people urged the rest of the guests to stay calm. He saw someone holding up a white card, with yet another drawing of a guillotine on it. Just a few paces away, a door suddenly swung shut, as if someone had just made an exit. Feuilly had seen this as well, and was now already making his way past the disturbance.

"Can't find Prouvaire," Feuilly said when he and Enjolras met at the door.

"Isn't he with Azelma?" Enjolras asked. A quick glance at the crowd told him that Azelma was still with the Lafontaines, but the poet was nowhere in sight. He pushed this unsettling fact aside as he and Feuilly discreetly stepped out into a long, winding hallway. ' _This probably leads out to the kitchen,'_ Enjolras thought, hearing the clatter of dishes from one end of the corridor. Suddenly the telltale sound of furniture crashing to the ground followed by a startled yelp came from the left side of the hallway, near a narrow stairwell. Enjolras and Feuilly ran into a darkened room in time to see Prouvaire grappling with a burly man clad in a domino. Before anyone could help him, the poet managed to knock his assailant out cold with a well-aimed punch to the face.

"Prouvaire! What happened?" Feuilly asked, managing to catch the poet by an arm.

"I'm fine," Prouvaire said, breathing heavily. He had a split lip and his clothes were torn in some places. "This one jumped me when I followed his friend. The man from the ballroom went out the window."

Enjolras ran to the open window, in time to catch sight of a dark figure racing through the garden. "Lafontaine is still in the ballroom. He has to know about this," he instructed before quickly heading back into the hallway and to the front door of the house.

It was fortunate that winter had stripped most of the foliage from the Lafontaines' gardens, thus giving Enjolras a rather clearer view of the premises. He raced down to where this unknown messenger was trying to leave via a side gate. Enjolras saw this man reach into his coat and pull out a pistol but he swiftly dealt a kick to this man's arm, forcing him to drop the gun. The man screamed as he clutched at his broken arm, giving Enjolras enough time to grab him by his collar and push him to the ground.

"You're a messenger. Who sent you here?" Enjolras demanded.

The man squirmed and tried to get free. "Some fellow," he whimpered.

"Who has a name, I'm certain?" Enjolras asked, tightening his grip on his would-be assailant.

The messenger paled visibly. "I'll be dead if I say."

In the meantime, Feuilly ran up to this scene, and shook his head after a brief survey of the situation. "That other man might not have been his accomplice after all. He might have been there to ensure that the job was done," he informed Enjolras in an undertone over the shouts and footsteps of various people approaching the scene.

"Where are-oh good Lord-someone run down to the police right away!" Auguste Lafontaine shouted as he pushed his way past some onlookers. He quickly directed his servants to search and then tie up the man while another person went to summon the authorities. "We'll have him apprehended straight away," he told his guests. "I believe he was trespassing."

A quick search of this unfortunate's pockets revealed yet another pistol, an envelope full of hundred franc notes, and seven more cards, all of them marked with the same drawing of a guillotine. ' _Perhaps holding them up to a lamp might reveal more,'_ Enjolras thought, noticing how the paper seemed wrinkled in some places. "What about the man Prouvaire accosted?' he asked Auguste.

"Already taken care of," Auguste said, sounding a little shaken. "Those cards with guillotines...are those meant to be death threats?"

"So it might seem," Enjolras replied. It would be the third occasion in the span of one week that he'd seen these cards, and on all three instances this was on the right bank of the Seine. ' _Perhaps the origin isn't far from here,'_ he thought as he followed Feuilly and Auguste back to the house.

Prouvaire met them at the front doorway. "The other man is begging not to be taken to the Prefecture. He said that he can lead you to the location of a certain Olivier Magnon," he asked Enjolras.

Enjolras raised an eyebrow at this bit of information. "A far too ready turncoat."

Feuilly shook his head. "This has everything of a trap about it."

"I know. Which is why the Surete will have to deal with these informants; they will be more useful than any other physical evidence such as the notes," Enjolras replied calmly. ' _We cannot afford to delve any deeper into this investigation,'_ he decided. Far too many people were becoming entangled in this increasingly dangerous confusion.

Feuilly stuck his hands in his pockets. "You used savate on that gunman, didn't you?"

"I did."

"He's lucky to be alive then, getting away with only a broken arm."

Auguste started on hearing this. "I've fenced with you before, Enjolras, but savate..." he trailed off in disbelief. "Do you also practice it as well, Citizen Feuilly?"

Feuilly's face was grim as he nodded briefly. "I learned before I left the Midi."

"The same must be true for you, Citizen Enjolras?" Auguste inquired.

"He did not learn it in Aix," a distinctly feminine voice cut in. The men turned to see Monique standing in the hall, with a grim expression on her face. "Citizens, I must be a little rude but I have to speak with my son," the woman said. "In private."

"Should I conduct you both to a sitting room?" Auguste asked Monique.

"I do not think it will be necessary, Citizen, but thank you for the offer," Monique replied graciously. She waited for the rest of the group to withdraw to the ballroom before looking her only child in the eye. "You learned that in Marseille, didn't you?"

Enjolras swallowed hard even as he stood up straighter. Why was his mother bringing this up now? "That was where I first saw it in practice," he replied candidly. Since then, he'd picked up the art from a few acquaintances in Paris.

"I see. Does Eponine know that happened also in Marseille?"

"What?"

"I guessed that you told her something, but she was the one who told me to ask you if I wanted to know anything of it. You found yourself an excellent confidante; she wouldn't betray anything you said," Monique said bitterly.

"Was that why you asked to talk with her?" Enjolras asked tersely.

"I was originally asking her about how you two were enjoying this party. Then I had to hazard a guess; it has nothing to do with anything she said," Monique replied. She twisted a handkerchief between her fingers before speaking again. "You could have told me too all those years ago."

' _Not at a time when she wouldn't have understood it completely,'_ he thought. He could almost see again his mother's aghast expression on the morning he and his friends arrived back in Aix, after walking perhaps half of the way from Marseille. ' _It was as if she didn't recognize me anymore,'_ he recalled, trying not to show any sign of flinching at the memory."I mentioned what happened: our plans went awry, and we had to stay behind in Marseille to assist our hosts. It would have been the height of ingratitude to simply leave them unaided in their respective predicaments."

Monique sighed as she began to pace. "Something terrible happened there, I am sure of it. Something that frightened you and your friends. You were never the easiest child to understand, Antoine, but I feel as if you never completely returned from Marseille."

Enjolras shook his head. "I believe that when I returned, you met more of me than before I left."

Monique stopped pacing. "More of you? You used to laugh; when you returned, you hardly ever did. You returned on foot when before, I had never liked the idea of you wandering off so far!"

"My mind became clearer," Enjolras explained. He swallowed hard on seeing his mother's sceptical expression. "We were there for three months, among strangers. We had to learn to fend for ourselves."

"Tell me how."

"Should I begin with what happened at the fonctionnaire's offices or with the docks?"

Her jaw dropped as she gripped her handkerchief more tightly. "The first, I understand; they are incredibly frustrating anywhere in this country. The docks though-"

"I spent three days there helping unload some of the ships. I was taking the place of a man who'd gotten jailed on a false charge," Enjolras said slowly.

"Were you hurt there?"

"Not severely, as you can see."

She leaned against a wall as she shook her head. "Why didn't any of you boys write if you needed money?" she asked at length.

"That would not have solved the problem, or even arrived in time," he said. It had been the first time he'd ever learned how it was for an entire household to rely on a man daily wage in order to purchase a middling amount of bread, learning not to place his hopes on any windfall from afar.

Monique sighed deeply. "Even if your father and I couldn't have done much then to assist you, I wish you'd told us what happened. For our peace of mind, as well as yours."

"My peace of mind?"

"Were you really planning to take that story to your grave? Impossible even for you! It's good that you chose to at least tell Eponine about it. There is at least one person in the world you trust that much."

"More than one. I also had to tell Combeferre and Courfeyrac," Enjolras admitted.

"That was more to be expected." Monique's expression was contrite when she spoke again. "I fear that I might have been unduly harsh when I spoke with Eponine. I was only surprised that you'd taken her into your confidence so easily, but I must have made it sound more caustic. Please extend my apologies to her, even if I do intend to speak with you both tomorrow before your father and I have to leave."

Enjolras nodded slowly. "I shall. Is there anything more you wish to discuss?"

"This will do for tonight; I do not wish to deprive you completely of the chance to enjoy yourself," Monique said over the sound of the ballroom door opening. Her expression grew quizzical at the sight of people filing out into the front hall. "It's far too early for the evening to end!"

Enjolras shrugged as he looked to where Auguste and Angelique Lafontaine were apologizing to some of the guests, including Prouvaire and Azelma. Prouvaire glanced his way and traced a square in the air. Enjolras nodded sternly, realizing what this meant. ' _The investigation at the Prefecture might not be enough to clear up the conjectures about the card that was found in the ballroom,'_ he thought as he went to his friends.

"The older Lafontaines said it's no longer safe to continue the festivities," Prouvaire explained. "A bit of a disappointment; there were quite a lot of old friends here I hadn't seen in some time, and who were telling me about some interesting compositions."

"I see. Will you both be heading back to the Latin Quartier?" Enjolras replied.

"We won't be going home right away; we'll be with them," Azelma said, pointing to where some of the ladies were congregating. "There's a little entertainment at someone's house. Music. You and my sister should come along; it would be fun."

"Not this time," Enjolras said. ' _Especially since we were not specifically invited to join them,'_ he decided silently. "We'll be at the Musain tomorrow, for Feuilly's sending off celebration."

"Noontime, if I remember?" Prouvaire asked. "It's a good hour for a sober sort of toast."

' _And the only hour left for everyone to gather, as Feuilly will probably spend the evening attending to last minute preparations,'_ Enjolras mused. He nodded to Auguste and Angelique. "Thank you for this evening's event. Hopefully we will meet again at a more fortuitous time," he said to them.

"To discuss more social matters, instead of politics. It has been a while," Auguste quipped. "Perhaps before the first of March? I know that is the first session of the legislature."

"Yes, before that day would be best," Enjolras replied. After bidding goodbye to his hosts, he finally found Eponine as she was retrieving her coat from the cloakroom.

Before he could say a word, she caught his gaze and sighed. "We have to go home."

"Don't you wish to join your sister?" he asked, gesturing to where Azelma and Prouvaire were still standing in the foyer.

"No. I'd hardly know what to do there; not with them so intent on being merry and me not knowing much of music," she replied with a shrug.

Enjolras paused, noticing the slightly wan tone in Eponine's answer. He touched her back lightly. "Are you well?"

"If you mean that I am not ill, then yes I am," Eponine replied, squeezing his arm. "I've only had a long day, and a good deal to think about. You need not fret."

"I see," Enjolras said before he and Eponine went to make a last round of goodbyes. It took a little while before they could find a fiacre that would take them back to the Latin Quartier. By this time it was about eleven in the evening.

He couldn't help but notice that Eponine did not say anything but only watched the darkened streets from the fiacre window, all the while absent-mindedly fiddling with her gloves. "My mother said that she wishes to apologize for how your conversation turned out," he said at length.

"I s'pose she was right to be upset, at least with you. That was a little terrible of you to do it," Eponine replied, managing a wry smile. "You're an only son, that's why she can't help it."

"I also saw things differently then, and so did she," Enjolras said. He had to admit though that Monique's assessment was correct in the sense that he would never have been able to be wholly silent about the matter for the entirety of his life. "At the very least this misunderstanding has been cleared up."

"So it was a doubly good thing that your parents came all the way here," Eponine remarked, shifting so that she was practically nestled against him. "You wouldn't want to have to wait months of years to go back to Aix just to explain it."

' _If it even would have come up_ ,' he thought, brushing a strand of hair behind Eponine's ear. He heard her sigh as she leaned further into his touch. "The rest of the evening's events are a more urgent cause of concern now."

"Oh, the fight and that card that was found?" Eponine asked. "That man who'd been attacked in the ballroom was actually the clerk of that Citizen Mathieu. I am not sure why it wasn't given straight to his employer since that would have been easier to manage. It's good there was that doctor there, Citizen Bayard, to help take care of him."

Enjolras frowned at this added turn to the mystery. "It's out of our hands now though. The Surete now has two persons who may be convinced to reveal what they know of the scheme."

"For a very dear price, I am sure of it," Eponine said, looking at him worriedly. "Tonight makes three times in one week: first the Place Vendome, then your parents' lodgings, and then now here. Maybe the cards come from the same bank of the Seine."

"Perhaps," he said. ' _It would help narrow down the area the Surete would have to search in,'_ he realized. He saw Eponine bite her lip as she tugged again at her gloves. "Did something else happen at the soiree?" he asked.

"Yes, but maybe I can't tell you about it yet," Eponine said. She clasped his hand when she saw him frown. "I will tell you about it, when I've done some thinking."

"On what?"

"Something rather important."

' _What could it be?'_ Enjolras wondered but he knew better than to inquire further as to the specifics. "Eponine, did you at least enjoy the evening at some point?" he asked worriedly.

"I did. The first part of it. I don't even mind that we couldn't dance."

"At least there's that," Enjolras said, touching the back of her neck. He did not feel her relax under his hand, but she at least clasped his fingers and leaned further into him, as if seeking some warmth. They were silent the rest of the way back to the Rue Jean Jacques Rousseau. When they arrived at the tenement, they had to let themselves in using Eponine's passkey.

Eponine squinted as she stepped into the front hall. "Someone's asleep here," she whispered, tiptoeing up to a small shape curled up in a chair. "It's only Jacques."

"What was he waiting for?" Enjolras asked in consternation.

"I s'pose he worries a little in his own way," Eponine said as she scooped up her brother. "I'll take care of him."

"Are you sure you do not need help?" he asked, only to have her shake her head. He gritted his teeth before he followed her upstairs to the hallway. It was not like Eponine to be this melancholic, even on her worst days.

Eponine paused to look at him before she let herself into her room. "Tomorrow then. I'll tell you what it was about."

"That would be best," Enjolras said. "Good night, Eponine."

It was only at that moment that an actual smile crossed her face. "Good night, Antoine."

Enjolras felt his breath catch at this, perhaps at the softer way that she had said his name. Despite the rather tumultuous events of the evening, he found that he was quite unable to sleep, or at least to fall into that deep slumber he knew he needed. He did not know how long he tossed and turned, or how long he managed to doze, but he figured it had to be about an hour before dawn when he opened his eyes to the sound of rain battering hard against the roof. ' _It didn't seem last night as if there was a storm coming in,'_ he thought as he got dressed, remembering now that there was no bread left in the kitchen for this morning's breakfast; he'd have to go to the nearest bakery and get two or three loaves before anyone else in the house woke up.

When he went downstairs, carrying his coat with him in the meantime instead of wearing it, he saw Eponine sitting on the front step of the house, looking anxiously out at the rain. She was wearing a plain blue work dress, and her hair was simply tied back with a ribbon instead of being swept up in pins and combs. There was something surer and even more alluring about this familiar way of hers, even in light of her elegance the previous evening. Somehow he felt the urge to go up to her, to see if she was feeling any better from the night before and perhaps to finally find out what had been on her mind. "Good morning Eponine," he greeted her.

She smiled when she turned to look at him. "I s'pose we thought the same thing, Antoine," she replied by way of greeting.

"The fact that someone has to see to breakfast?" he deadpanned as he put aside his coat and then sat beside her. He realized that she was not wearing her usual gloves but he decided not to comment on it when he felt her slip her fingers between his.

"Yes, though I was also talking about not being able to sleep," she said.

"Likewise," he replied more ruefully. Even over the sound of the rain, he could hear the sound of a bell tolling the hour; it was only five in the morning. "Perhaps we should wait for this downpour to end first."

"I don't s'pose it will for a while; the rain has a way of going on so especially during winter," Eponine said. "Now I shall tell you. You saw there were lancers at the dance last night. Citizen Gillenormand was among them. He was very, very cross with me."

"What did he say?" Enjolras asked, hoping he still kept his tone level.

"He asked the oddest thing; why I chose you. Not why I didn't choose anyone else. There is a difference," she replied.

Enjolras gritted his teeth. "That was not his place to ask."

"I know but I s'pose he couldn't help at least thinking of it," she said as she touched his knee lightly. "You know what I said to him?"

"You probably told him that he wouldn't understand," he remarked, idly running his fingers through the ends of her hair.

"It sounded that way when I was telling him to leave," she said wryly. "I shouldn't have let it worry me; I know you were thinking that I was acting peculiar. "

"Rather dispirited," he pointed out.

She nodded ruefully. "I do have another thing to say to that question."

"Which would be?" he asked, leaning in closer to better hear her answer. At that moment he unexpectedly felt something hard collide with his forehead, forcing him to draw back. As the pain dulled, he saw that Eponine was also clutching her brow, wincing slightly. It took him a moment before he could speak again. "Eponine, did you just try to-"

"I would have if you'd stayed still!" she exclaimed with dismay as she rubbed the bridge of her nose. Her eyes flashed with mortification and disappointment as she moved as if to get to her feet. "I s'pose that it was not the answer you were expecting."

"It's an answer nevertheless, Eponine," he said quickly as he grabbed her hand. She sighed and sat down next to him, resting her chin in her hands. He touched her cheek, prompting her to look at him confusedly. Before he could second-guess himself, Enjolras pressed his lips to hers, just long enough so that he was sure she would feel it. As he pulled away he saw her eyes widening with disbelief. "That wasn't untoward, I hope?" he asked worriedly.

"No, not at all! Never from you!" she laughed, reaching up to touch his hair, then moving her hand to run over his forehead and his cheeks. "I thought I would have to ask you first. I know I'm the only woman you'd ever kiss this way," she said, smiling widely as she traced his lips with her fingers.

' _She is correct about that,'_ he realized, fully aware that he was also smiling now, but thankfully there was no one else around to comment on it. He slipped an arm around her waist. "I am sure this was not how you thought this conversation would go," he said at last.

She laughed again and shook her head. "I'm not complaining, Antoine."

"Nor am I," he concurred, letting her sit close to him as they waited for the rain to stop.


	52. Chapter 52: Studies in Crimson

**Chapter 52: Studies in Crimson**

"Did I hear you right? You and Prouvaire didn't go home till almost daybreak?"

Azelma grinned widely before taking a sip of wine. "What else could we do? After everyone was tired of the pianoforte, someone asked Jehan if he could play something on the flute. He spent part of last week composing something, and I told him he had to let all of us hear it. He was splendid of course. Then we all ended up talking till no one remembered to look at the clock."

"I'm glad you two had a wonderful time but I hope that the Lafontaine girls weren't scolded for being away from home, or keeping everyone out for so long," Musichetta remarked, daintily wiping some sugar off her lips.

"It was fine for them. In fact I'm supposed to see them later; we're to visit a friend of theirs," Azelma prattled on, raising her voice slightly to be heard over the rain that still pounded relentlessly on the roof of the Musain. "They'll be visiting a jeweller. He has something of an auction or show next week, but he is giving us a private look at some pieces. I am sure that I'll find something nice to wear to your wedding, Musichetta." She elbowed Eponine, who was passing by while carrying a cup of coffee. "You should come along too, Ponine."

Eponine swore under her breath as she just managed to keep the cup from falling to the floor. "I can't. I have to take care of the boys. I also have to go visiting with Claudine later in the evening since Leonor can't accompany her since she's staying with Feuilly. The wife of that Citizen Bayard, the doctor who was at the gathering last night, told Leonor that she wants to hear a little more about organizing a proper political group for the ladies," she said, glancing towards where they, along with most of their friends were conversing animatedly at other tables in the cafe. Although it was past noon already, there were still three people missing, including Feuilly, the guest of honor. ' _I hope he, Enjolras, and Prouvaire don't mean to walk all the way here from the Prefecture,'_ she thought, looking out at the still drenched street.

Azelma pursed her lips petulantly. "Don't you ever do anything fun anymore, Ponine? You didn't even dance last night!"

Musichetta stared at Eponine in shock. "Why didn't you?"

"I had to talk to people, and besides I hardly know how to dance properly," Eponine replied, deciding not to recount her far more harrowing evening. "The soiree ended far too early, so there was not much time to be merry," she added a little more bluntly.

"You have to dance at my wedding," Musichetta insisted. "It's a celebration for me and Joly. It will be a happy day for us, and I want you to enjoy it too since you're our friend."

"I s'pose you're right," Eponine said with a shrug. ' _Though I think I could still be happy without the dancing,'_ she thought before excusing herself to go to where Claudine and Leonor were in the middle of writing down something.

Leonor motioned for Eponine to sit down. "Couldn't stand your sister talking on like that?" she asked.

"It was her first time to be at something that grand," Eponine said, setting down her cup. "At least it was a night that was not exactly wasted."

"She'd better be careful not to be too dazzled with those Lafontaines," Leonor muttered. "I know how some of them talk about the diplomats, especially Gilles."

Eponine frowned. "It's not those older ones she deals with but the girls. There's no trouble there."

"Not in the strictest sense. She's young, she's friendly, but in that sort of circle it can easily lead to trouble especially if people misinterpret the way she acts," Leonor said, lowering her voice further. "Prouvaire means well; he's besotted by her but that means he indulges her a good deal. As Azelma's sister, you should be firmer with her."

"How then?" Eponine asked tersely. "I'm not the proper sort either to be talking about manners."

"It's not only about manners, but discretion. The last thing anyone needs is her and Prouvaire making fools of themselves."

"Leonor, is this necessary?" Claudine cut in. She waited a moment before handing to Eponine the sheet of paper they'd been working on. "These are some things that can be discussed tonight. Perfectly legitimate points."

Eponine frowned as she read through the various questions regarding small philanthropic works such as foundations and orphanages. "It's mostly about what bourgeoisie ladies like to talk about. Not what's going on in here or in Les Halles."

"She  _is_  a bourgeoisie, we can't expect her to be overly concerned about women like us," Leonor said.

"We still worry about having enough for bread while  _they_ can talk about where else they can put their money so they can sound charitable. That's not much help for many," Eponine replied scornfully, remembering all too well what had happened at the Gorbeau tenement hardly a year ago, when Jean Valjean and Cosette had made their well-meaning but rather ill-timed visit.

"I see what you mean, but still wouldn't hurt to meet Citizenness Bayard," Claudine argued. "If a majority of women could see eye to eye on the issue of the vote, then maybe there's hope for other discussions. Maybe next time Leonor can join us, and Cosette too, when it will be more polite to bring a new friend along."

Eponine bit her lip, trying to reconcile herself to this course of action. ' _It's only because we need a way to make sure that the legislature and the offices won't forget the promises made before the elections,'_ she thought. "I s'pose that could and should happen," she said after a moment.

"For all we know, she might come around," Claudine said. "You yourself say that sometimes all that people need is a little explanation."

"An explanation that they like," Eponine said dryly.

Meanwhile, at another table, Courfeyrac took a quick look at his pocket watch and shook his head. "It's nearly half past twelve. Did Feuilly have some other appointment?" he asked Leonor.

"He said he'd be going to La Force to ask about the informants who were found last night at the soiree. Enjolras and Prouvaire should be with him," Leonor replied, her brow crinkling with worry. "This rain is going to delay them."

"A banquet without-" Grantaire began, trailing off as he noticed that Nicholine was readying to pinch him. "Without the guest of honor," he amended.

"Does this have to do with the cards that were brought to the Surete this morning?" Bahorel asked, tapping the end of a cigar against the side of his seat.

Therese crossed her arms. "I thought those letter writers were already caught."

"The first batch of them, meaning the ones on this side of the Seine. These cards are new; they first appeared when we were at the Place Vendome the day before the elections. Also, no one has found the  _mastermind_  of some of the violent incidents during the campaign or the elections," Bahorel explained.

' _It would be so much easier if we knew that everything came from the counterrevolutionaries,'_ Eponine thought, looking down in hopes of evading any further query from her friends regarding the previous night's events. She knew better than to believe that any scheme of this magnitude would have a single mastermind or even one hiding in plain sight. ' _That was why Papa always had Maman in some of his little schemes at home,'_ she recalled.

Despite these troubling thoughts, she couldn't help but smile anyway after taking another sip from her still half-full cup of coffee, all the while remembering what had transpired even before breakfast. She had not been expecting her discussion with Enjolras to take that turn, but somehow he'd immediately guessed her intended answer to her troubles, leaving her with only one other way to explain the rest of the matter.  _'I never imagined though that he'd also be out of words too,'_ she thought, recalling the light but sure feel of his lips on hers.

Suddenly Bossuet looked towards the Musain's front window. "Excuse me for a moment," he muttered, quickly getting up, grabbing his hat and hurrying outside.

"Who is he talking to?" Azelma asked, pointing to where Bossuet was now talking rather eagerly with a young woman whose form was mostly hidden by a thick pelisse and a large hat.

"Marthe Blanchard; that's a cousin of that Blanchard we all know from the  _Radicaux_ ," Nicholine said.

Paulette pursed her lips disapprovingly. "There is a haughty one. I don't see why she just doesn't come in here like most sensible people would."

"She doesn't know most of us," Nicholine pointed out. "I'd also be shy if I had to be led in with a whole group of people who've known each other for so long."

Therese laughed and shook her head. "I think it's because we all like to act so silly."

As the three women began to debate this point, Eponine looked towards the window again and this time noticed three familiar figures approaching the Musain. She slipped to the kitchen to ask Louison for another cup of coffee. ' _Feuilly and Prouvaire will go for the wine first, I s'pose,'_ she thought, returning just in time to see Azelma fussing over Prouvaire while the rest of the group had somehow drawn Feuilly and Enjolras into the middle of their lively conversation. She had to hide her amused grin on seeing that Enjolras was sitting around again in his shirtsleeves, having set aside his rather drenched coat. He was listening to one of Courfeyrac's stories, but he still nodded to her as she sat down next to him and placed the cup of coffee adjacent to his elbow.

"I know you're not up to getting brandy, but you do need to get that chill out of your face after walking such a long way," she told him by way of greeting as she discreetly brushed off some drops of water from his hair.

He smiled, noticing now what she had brought to him. "Thank you, Eponine," he said before taking a sip of the still hot drink.

"You look rather tired out. Both of you," Courfeyrac remarked concernedly.

"That is odd. I know that you and Eponine left before Leonor and I went off with some friends, and you went straight home," Feuilly said, looking curiously at Enjolras.

Bahorel wiggled his eyebrows as he glanced from Eponine to Enjolras. "For a more private sort of celebration, by the looks of it."

Courfeyrac confined himself to a knowing smirk, Combeferre and Claudine exchanged confused looks, while Cosette merely shrugged, but this was the very limit of subtlety, as everyone else could not hold back their snickering. "His not being able to take his eyes off you was a big understatement," Musichetta said slyly to Eponine.

"Yes, but that is when we're talking," Eponine deadpanned, daring to meet Enjolras' eyes. ' _They would talk more if they found out about this morning,'_ she thought, and so she hid her smile behind her own cup of coffee.

Grantaire raised his glass of water. "Shall I congratulate you then for your conquest of-" he began before yelping as Nicholine kicked his shin under the table.

"If you mean overcoming some practical, political difficulties, yes," Enjolras replied.

"And one situation involving the excellent use of savate," Bahorel remarked.

Combeferre hissed at the mention of this. "You encountered someone that dangerous?"

"In the plural," Prouvaire said. The poet looked up at the sound of the Musain's door clattering open again, this time admitting a despondent looking Bossuet.

Joly shook his head on seeing his thoroughly drenched roommate. "Take this," he said, handing over a glass of wine. "How do matters stand now with you and Marthe?" he asked worriedly.

Bossuet took a long sip of wine. "She is cross of course, that goddess of the crossroads being as she is."

Feuilly swallowed hard. "If you need to see her now, then you should go. Your being here on a day like this is already more than I could ask for," he said firmly.

"It is a more permanent crossroad, unfortunately," Bossuet said with a dramatic sigh.

"What do you mean?" Joly asked.

"Must I detail the entire epic?" Bossuet replied.

Musichetta sighed sympathetically. "Maybe some other time?"

"Yes, when I can tell you of the denouement." Bossuet's smile was rueful as he looked at his friends. "It would not be fair for me to mention the matter if she will not be here to explain her part of it."

"That is wise," Combeferre said. "And very gentlemanly."

' _Is this the first time this has happened to him?'_ Eponine wondered as she finished the last of her own drink. Next to Enjolras himself, Bossuet was the one in their group known for being rather close-lipped about his romantic life. Yet it was clear, at least judging by the worried looks that Joly, Musichetta, and Grantaire were exchanging, that matters had somehow taken an unusually grave turn. Fortunately the conversation soon shifted to what Feuilly would be doing in the course of his trip to England, effectively dispelling the slight gloom.

It was past one-thirty in the afternoon when finally the rain slowed down to a light drizzle, giving everyone the opportunity to depart for their respective workplaces or for other appointments. "We'll meet at six in the evening, in front of the Bayard residence; Rue de Chevert, near the Avenue de Tourville," Claudine informed Eponine. "You can't miss the house with its green carriage gate."

"Bayard..that is the name of one of the supervisors at the Necker?" Joly chimed in, glancing at Combeferre. "Isn't he also on the panel screening for lecturers?"

"He is. He is fortunately a very meticulous fellow," Combeferre remarked in a level tone. "His spouse is a salonniere," he added, giving Claudine a knowing look.

"That might be fortunate for us then!" Eponine said. She felt Enjolras' hand brush against hers and she deftly gripped his fingers. "Where are you headed after this?" she asked him.

"Place Saint-Andre; I have a meeting there," he replied. "It's not that far a walk from here."

She nodded, understanding that he meant to accompany her at least in the general direction of the Rue des Macons. ' _Seeing that he still hasn't explained what he learned today,'_ she thought as they took leave of their friends, pausing a little longer to convey their good wishes to Feuilly.

When they stepped out into the Place Saint-Michel, they saw that the place was busy; other people were taking advantage of the break in the weather in order to move about. "Never mind the Rue de Gres. We should talk elsewhere," Enjolras said, discreetly reaching for Eponine's hand.

"I know just the place," Eponine said, squeezing his fingers briefly before letting go of his hand so she could loop her arm around his. "There, we'll look better that way."

"For what reason is this?" he asked, his tone somewhere between teasing and bemusement.

"People may as well be watching," she replied, leading him in the general direction of her workplace. They stopped just short of the Stendhals' doorstep and headed instead for the back alley adjacent to the house. "This will have to do. I'm sorry it's not as nice as our doorstep," she finally said, pulling him into the alcove made by the house's backdoor.

Enjolras smirked at this remark. "As long as we cannot be overheard, even from inside."

"This door is thick, and anyway we won't be too loud," she said with a shrug, leaning against the doorjamb. "So what is it?"

"Those two men who were at the Lafontaines last night were working with that same Oliver Magnon we've been trying to find for all these weeks," he said seriously.

"How is it that he has so many eyes everywhere?" Eponine asked, frowning as she mulled over these events. It was one thing to be shadowed in the Latin Quartier; it wasn't surprising, given that she had stayed there long enough for anyone to get a good look at what she as up to. It was another matter though to be shadowed across the Seine, a place that she and her friends did not frequent.

"It's most likely a new web, and we have found two of the threads in it," Enjolras replied. He took a deep breath before speaking again. "One of the informants also claimed that Babet is working with that Magnon."

Eponine's eyes widened. "Babet wouldn't."

"As you have said several times before."

"So Babet is alive and somehow Montparnasse does not know it?"

"The informant simply  _claims_  that is so. The matter has yet to be ascertained since we know that Babet is still missing," Enjolras replied, sounding a little vexed at this information. "It also seems that as if our old friend Citizen Ravigard is also involved," he added.

"That would explain why I saw him in the area some time after we met your parents," Eponine said. "He stepped into a cafe, I knew better than to follow him. He could have been there for business, so that's why I didn't say a word."

"It is indeed circumstantial," he agreed. "The link between him and these informants is tenuous at best, at least given what information the Surete has."

"I can help take apart Citizen Ravigard's books again," she offered.

"Hopefully that will not be necessary," he said with a slight smile. "There is already enough evidence for an investigator to make some of the necessary inquiries."

"Maybe he won't do the same trick twice. Is he going to be arrested though?"

"No, but there will be inquiries. That part of the matter is out of our hands now."

Eponine smiled, catching the relief that had been evident in Enjolras' voice. She brought her hands up to run her fingers through his slightly damp hair, liking the feel of the unruly strands against her fingers. He tensed slightly as if surprised by the contact, but he soon relaxed under her hands and pulled her just a little closer, placing his hands lightly on her waist.

"How long will you be at the Place Saint-Andre?" she whispered in his ear after a few moments. She could smell the rainwater on him, mingled with a deeper scent that she knew to be his.

"The rest of the afternoon. You'll be at the Rue de Chevert all evening?" he said, stepping back a little to help her smooth out her slightly wrinkled coat.

"Yes, unless Claudine says we should end the talk a little early," she replied.

He nodded as he caught her hands in his, running his thumbs over her knuckles. "Now I do not know much about Citizenness Bayard, but I am certain that Citizen Bayard himself is rather vocal about erring on the cautious side of politics. He may very well ask about your opinions," he advised.

"I'd rather that he would ask of that sort instead of asking why I'm being entertained in the first place,"

"That is true. You will have a good answer to either question," he said confidently over the sound of voices from inside the house." So will I see you later, Eponine?" he asked, lowering his voice a little.

"I s'pose so," she said before kissing him lightly, lingering a little longer than he had this morning when he had kissed her. Enjolras took her hand firmly as he led her out of the alley and back onto the main road. Even though she knew that the increasingly chilly wind should have made her shiver, she could feel warmth in her cheeks, not just from being so close to Enjolras but also just from the way he had said her name. ' _Then again you've always liked the way he could say anything, '_ she thought before she hurried into the Stendhals' house.

Much to her consternation she found Odette Stendhal in the front office, haranguing her son. Eponine hung back in a corner, waiting for the woman to finish upbraiding Emile. To her surprise the young man slammed down a stack of tomes before quitting the room. He barely muttered a curt greeting to Eponine before storming off into the back office and slamming the door.

Eponine swallowed hard before going to where Odette was still seated, breathing hard. "Odette? What was that about?' she asked.

Odette's brow was knitted in a deep frown. "That boy is being so insensible! Trying to do this and that, regardless of everything his father told him  _not_  to do! I could have sworn something had turned his head!" she hissed.

"He's only trying to fix things in so little time," Eponine said. Lately much of the house's upkeep fell to Emile as well as to Eponine, in addition to the work that had to be done in the shop.

"I wouldn't mind if he wasn't so petulant," Odette complained, gesturing to the back office. She sighed deeply as she pulled her uncombed, greying hair out of her eyes. "It's quite sad that in a few days you'll be working more at the Hotel de Ville. I wish I wouldn't have to find other help."

"What do you mean by working at the Hotel de Ville?"

"Won't you be assisting Citizen Enjolras now in the legislature? I am sure he has an office to keep up."

"Oh! I won't be helping him in that place. I'd hardly have the time to do other important things if I was to be there at the Hotel de Ville with him. " Eponine replied, hoping that she had said all of this with a straight face.

"He's an odd one then. Most other men would prefer having..." Odette trailed off before shaking her head and managing a wan smile. "Well then I'm glad you're staying. Sometimes you're more reasonable than Emile."

' _Does he know that's how she talks about him?'_ she wondered uneasily even as she went to help Odette back upstairs to her room. On her way down she thought of asking Emile how he was, but judging from the sound of slamming drawers and curses from the back office, it was probably a less than ideal time to do so. ' _Hopefully he won't come to disturb me,'_ she thought, occupying her usual desk to begin tallying up a new book of accounts.

It only seemed like a few minutes had passed till Eponine heard a knock on the door. She rubbed her eyes as she looked at a clock, realizing that it was already half past three in the afternoon. Her eyes widened when she saw that this visitor was none other than Monique.

"I know this is a surprise, Eponine," Monique said to her by way of greeting. "This is the only time I have left today to see you, since Louis and I are leaving in the morning. Louis sends his regards by the way."

"Oh, so early?" Eponine asked, letting her into the house and motioning for her to sit in one of the armchairs in the front office. "How did you know I was here?"

"You mentioned it once, when you came over for breakfast. Also I just spoke with Antoine at the Place Saint-Andre; it took me some time to find him there. He said that he was just with you here," Monique replied. The matron smoothed out the folds of her skirt and took a deep breath. "I am truly sorry about last evening. I should not have been that snappish with you since the matter was only between me and my son. However I ought to thank you though; I do not think Antoine would have ever revealed the story to me if he hadn't told you first."

"He might have all the same. I did tell him it was wrong of him to keep that a secret and that you couldn't help asking."

Monique chuckled wryly at this. "I am sure he took it well. " Her expression was more serious when she spoke again. "He loves you. He would never have been able to take that criticism so easily otherwise. He will need you in the coming weeks, and I do hope you two will take care of each other."

' _Perhaps better than we have so far,'_ Eponine thought. "Will you visit again soon?" she asked, hoping to change the subject.

"For a wedding, maybe," Monique said with a knowing smile. "All the same, I hope to still hear from you; you can write to me if there is anything you wish to correspond about. I would dearly enjoy it."

"I s'pose Antoine can tell you a lot about me too, in his letters," Eponine pointed out. "He's always writing long ones."

"Yes, but I also like reading your own words too. You also have a gift for them." Monique said. "Perhaps the circumstances of our meeting were rather...surprising, but I like you as much for yourself. I'm more than happy to have finally met a girl who will certainly make something of herself."

' _Can I?'_ Eponine wondered, but then again there was some comfort in the fact that somehow she'd earned a near-stranger's respect, albeit in a roundabout fashion. "I'll tell you about it then."

"I'll look forward to that letter," Monique said amiably as she stood up. "I shan't keep you from your work, Eponine. I hope we will meet again soon."

"Well I hope you will have a safe journey," Eponine replied before seeing Monique to the door. It was all she could do to keep her mind on her work for the next half hour or so, especially with the impending meeting at the Bayards. ' _Where could that lead to?'_ she wondered, wiping up some ink blots from the desk. It was not as easy for her to be as hopeful as Claudine, Leonor, and Enjolras were, especially when she knew that under other circumstances she would never have been able to make eye contact with a prestigious pair such as the Bayards. ' _That's one thing that's changed about this world perhaps,'_ she decided before quickly cleaning up her desk and taking her leave of the Stendhals so she could meet her brothers at the schoolhouse and make sure they had an early dinner before she had to meet Claudine.

The Rue de Chevert was not an easy road to find, even for someone as familiar with the streets the way Eponine was. "What sort of fine folks choose to live in such a hidden place?" she complained to Claudine when they met at the gate of the rather opulent looking house, half concealed by some tall trees.

"The sort that feels that they cannot be disturbed," Claudine said before speaking with the porter. In a few minutes they were shown into a large sitting room adorned with various bookshelves and paintings. A large fire had been built up in the hearth, clearly in anticipation of some guests. This apartment was quite stuffier than the sitting room at Monique and Louis' lodgings, and Eponine couldn't help but feel a little stifled even as she took a seat.

A formidable woman dressed in a simple evening gown soon made her appearance. Her brown hair was held back in a high topknot and she had on a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles. "Good evening, Citizenness Bayard," Claudine greeted their hostess.

"And you too, Citizenness Andreas, Citizenness Thenardier," the woman said by way of acknowledgment. "Citizenness Andreas, I believe I have heard of you before; you assisted Citizen Combeferre with a published essay of his, if I am correct?"

"We wrote it together," Claudine said with a smile.

Citizenness Bayard nodded slowly before looking at Eponine. "Your friend Citizenness Torres said that you were at the forefront of organizing a sort of...women's auxiliary?"

Eponine looked at her confusedly. "What is that?"

"An auxiliary to what?" Claudine asked. "It is intended to be a political club, with an agenda that is not necessarily reliant on what is going on in the political parties or the legislature."

"What will that accomplish?"

Even as Claudine launched into an explanation, Eponine heard the sound of the gate opening, followed by girlish chatter and laughter. ' _Was that Azelma?'_ she wondered, sitting up straight.

Citizenness Bayard's eyes narrowed at the sound. "I fear my lodger has company. Perhaps you ladies have heard of the jeweller Citizen Duchamp? He has been travelling the world to procure a selection of wares," she said. "I'd better go see what he is about."

Eponine also sprang to her feet as soon as Citizenness Bayard had left the room. She now could hear the Lafontaine girls, namely Angelique and Cerise, chattering along with Azelma. "How funny this is!" she said to Claudine. "I don't think though that they will want to join us."

"More likely we will be asked to join them," Claudine said, shaking her head. This suspicion was only confirmed when Citizenness Bayard returned and invited her guests to come up to the second floor apartment, where Duchamp was lodging. Duchamp's apartment was thankfully a lot more aired out than the ground floor sitting room; judging by the crisp smell in the room, a window had been opened somewhat recently. The room was relatively unadorned, save for a large mirror set up at one end of the room. The jeweller himself was a powerfully built man who wore his hair long in the fashion of some of the Latin Quartier bohemians. In further defiance of convention he was wearing his morning coat as opposed to a tailcoat. He resembled a powerful potentate as he sat in a large armchair, picking at what appeared to be a dish of berries.

"So you've decided to come after all, Ponine!" Azelma greeted as she jumped up. "She is my sister. A year older than me," she informed Duchamp.

Angelique Lafontaine's greeting was more sedate. "This is a surprise, Citizenness Thenardier. A pleasant one though," she said.

"Yes, since my friend and I were here to see Citizenness Bayard," Eponine said before introducing Claudine to the group.

Duchamp grinned as soon as the introductions were finished. "Can I interest you ladies in some pomegranates? It is fortunate that they are still in season," he asked, gesturing to the bowl full of fruit, of a red so deep that it almost reminded Eponine of blood.

Citizenness Bayard shook her head. "Still rather dear in the market."

"But a worthy price to pay," Duchamp argued cheekily. "Please, take your seats," he said to his hostess and the two other newcomers.

"You should try these. These are delicious," Azelma said to Eponine and Claudine as she wiped her mouth. "I've never had this sort before."

"Thank you, but I do not think pomegranates agree with me," Claudine demurred.

"I almost had one," Eponine said, remembering one morning when she had been about fifteen and accompanying Montparnasse after a job. They had been hungry and she'd stolen a pomegranate, only to be told to throw it out since it was 'not good eating'. ' _Then there's something about it in those Greek stories,'_ she mused even as she saw Duchamp bring back a heavy box covered in velvet, all the while explaining to his hostess and to Angelique about the price of jewellery.

"These are some of my wares; I have a particularly fine one that I will show you later, but let me whet your appetites," Duchamp said, rolling up his sleeves as he opened the casket. He delicately lifted out an exquisite silver brooch in the shape of a butterfly, studded with deep blue stones. "The perfect thing for those pelisses everyone has nowadays," he bragged.

Eponine's eyes widened at the sight of the jewel. ' _That shiny bit could have paid our rent so many times over at the Gorbeau House!'_ she thought as she watched the other women admiring the piece. Even Claudine seemed to have taken an interest, at least as far as asking the origins of the blue stones, which turned out to be sapphires from a place known as Siam. Eponine found that she had to stick her hands into her pockets, if only to keep from showing too much interest. ' _I wouldn't be able to eat for weeks if I bought even the smallest thing there,'_ she told herself over and over as Duchamp brought out various necklaces and bracelets for his guests to admire. She reached for one of the pomegranate pieces and popped a small bit in her mouth. The fruit was tangy, almost bittersweet on her tongue, but she willed herself to swallow it anyway.

After a while, Duchamp cast a critical eye in Eponine's direction. "Are you sure there isn't anything here that I can interest you in, young lady?" he asked her.

"I am interested but I hardly have the money for it," she said bluntly.

"Eponine, if you want something I am sure that Citizen-" Azelma blurted out before Claudine threw her a warning look.

Duchamp raised his eyebrows. "You have a sweetheart, I see?" he asked Eponine.

"Yes, the young legislator Citizen Enjolras," Cerise Lafontaine said smugly before Angelique tugged sharply on her ear.

"I wouldn't say he's my sweetheart," Eponine retorted. The word only sounded awkward to her ears, more so when she saw Duchamp's sceptical expression. "He's more than just a particular friend," she added more boldly, already seeing a smirk forming on Cerise's face.

"Very wealthy, I see?" Duchamp said. "Too bad that I heard he has something of the Jacobin in him; he ought to know that there is no loss of  _vertu_  in gallantry." He set down a heavy set of bracelets and went to the cupboard again. "If I cannot prevail over you with this next piece, Citizenness, then I am no good judge of anything!" he called over his shoulder.

In the meantime Angelique was looking through her purse, clearly intent on shelling out some sum. "It's such a shame then," she said to Eponine. She shook her head at Cerise, who was contemplating the piece that Duchamp had just set down. "Cerise, have you made up your mind yet? I have to economize a little bit or your brother will be very cross."

"I don't see why you get to spend on such stones when...oh, look at that!" Cerise squealed, pointing to where Duchamp was now returning with a large box.

Eponine felt her breath catch in her throat as she saw what the jeweller was carrying. In the open box was a necklace made up of three strings of reddish brown crystal and tortoiseshell, accented by long pieces of gold filigree that served to hold the strands together at intervals. In the middle of this necklace was a large ruby cut into a faceted tear-drop shape, so clear that it threw a deep crimson light on the box and on Duchamp's hands.

"This piece exceeds a royal ransom," Duchamp said theatrically. "Yes, it's not made of diamonds, but there is a worthy story to the centrepiece."

"Which is?" Azelma asked. Her eyes were wide as she leaned forward to get a better look at the necklace. "Please tell it!"

"Only to the buyer," Duchamp said with a grin. "This necklace will be part of the exhibition next week, on the 28th." He gingerly lifted the necklace out of the box, taking care to hold it in both hands. "I see you have yet to protest, Citizenness Thenardier," he said to Eponine.

"Protest about what?" Eponine asked, aware that even Claudine was watching her with a wary look.

Duchamp smiled at her. "Would you want to see if it suits you? There is still time yet to decide, as the auction isn't for a few days."

Citizenness Bayard rolled her eyes and made a motion as if to slap the casket shut. "Stop tempting everyone. You have done enough of it for the evening, it's almost sinful,' she scolded her lodger.

"I am merely delineating an opportunity," Duchamp said coolly. "It would be shameful to deny any worthy lady of this chance to acquire something of beauty."

"If you won't get it, I am sure a lot of others would want it," Azelma taunted her sister.

Eponine didn't say anything as she looked towards the mirror at one end of the room. She touched her own bare neck, almost as if she could feel the weight of jewels there. ' _Should I at least take a look?'_ she wondered, even as she was sure that she would never be able to acquire this necklace, not even if she worked for a year and a day, or even two years and a day. ' _I shan't ask for it, I know I shouldn't,'_  she told herself, feeling her gloved hands balling up already into fists.


	53. Chapter 53: Vipers and Wild Tales

**Chapter 53: Vipers and Wild Tales**

_February 24, 1833_

_London, England_

_Dear friend,_

_I am writing in order to tell you that you are correct: this is a city built on ennui. You will see that I have addressed this letter to your residence instead of to your office, in order that this may not be misconstrued as an official report of the delegation. Before you wonder, I am well, at least physically. In terms of morale, the opposite is true, for reasons that I will list down shortly._

_London bears a great deal of similarity to Paris, in the way that many of the big cities of the world resemble each other in terms of activity and squalor. The difference is that there is a certain grimness here born of the weather. Imagine the rainstorm that was raging on my last full day in Paris, and multiply it tenfold such that it covers nearly every hour of the day. That is the climate of this city, such that good cheer becomes difficult while talk of rain seeps into every conversation. Inevitably the question of the weather comes up, and is dismissed in the way of the resigned man. It is hardly conducive to candor or proper diplomacy._

_We are lodging near that famous theater known as the Covent Garden. I had originally planned to use this evening to watch a pantomime; I had already bought a ticket, only to find out that the main performer, a harlequin who had trained under the famous Grimaldi, had unexpectedly injured himself on a sheet of glass and thus would be out for the evening. There is no way to ascertain if I will ever get a refund for this useless expenditure. In lieu of this entertainment, our hosts suggested a visit to one of the more exclusive clubs, an offshoot of that extinct entity known as Almack's. I do not know how they were able to ensure our admission to such an establishment, but I do think it must have come at a great deal of arm-twisting._

_While entertainment was not lacking; there was much dancing and music, the conversation was rather middling. It was not for lack of a common language; my rudimentary English allows me to answer some questions, and many of the visitors to these clubs know French. It is because of the lingering distrust towards the Republic, in part due to the impression that 1793 has left on so many people. We were naturally asked if we were Jacobins and blood-drinkers, and at least once I was pressed to give my opinion regarding Louis-Philippe. You can imagine the consternation that greeted my answer that I was not in favour of guillotining him or even of imprisoning him someplace. I fear it may have lessened my credibility in the eyes of those who had distinct expectations of our delegation even prior to meeting us._

_Another source of consternation was my opinion regarding colonies. You know how I stand on the question of Algeria. I am of the same stance when it comes to the question of England's governance of India and other territories. It is an unpopular opinion but one I must necessarily hold forward if asked to, or even unsolicited. This is yet another strike against me, and I can only imagine what more I can accumulate when we meet later with the Home Secretary and officials from the consulate._

_I will detail more in my next missive, or if there is no time and help for this, on my return to Paris. I am looking forward to seeing you and the rest of our friends again. Please give my greetings to Combeferre, Eponine (although I have also sent short missives for them) to Gavroche, Neville, and Jacques, and Citizenness Leclair._

_Your friend,_

_Gilles Feuilly_

Although this letter had arrived at the Rue Jean Jacques Rousseau almost at the crack of dawn, it was already mid-morning by the time Enjolras was able to read it, during a visit to the Rue des Filles du Calvaire. The young legislator sighed as he carefully folded up this dismal missive; he could imagine his friend furtively writing it at a rickety desk in an otherwise grand apartment within sight of a theater. ' _Hopefully that meeting will be more fortuitous,'_ he thought before turning his attention to where Bossuet was still conversing with Jean Valjean regarding the possibility of helping Marius with reworking and setting up the business of glasswork that had once brought Montreuil-sur-mer to prosperity.

"I am no hand with things fragile, but at least my participation isn't entirely hopeless," Bossuet remarked cheerfully after listening to Jean Valjean further detailing the more administrative side of the business. "If Pontmercy is around, would he be willing to hear me out on it?"

"He is in his study," Jean Valjean said. "I am sure he would appreciate the help with papers and the legalities of it."

Bossuet smiled widely as he dusted off his trousers and got to his feet. "Enjolras, would you consider it too?" he asked his friend.

"That is a question better considered four years from now," Enjolras replied.

"Ah yes, after the interdict that begins tomorrow," Bossuet quipped. "I congratulate you still, but I can never envy the new chain you have been elected into."

Enjolras raised an eyebrow, but chose not to dignify this comment any further. Although the past seven days had been comparatively peaceful, he had been very busy making preparations for the first session of the legislature, on the first of March. Today was no exception to this new rule; he had spent the whole day writing, meeting colleagues, and in fact had to meet his friend Blanchard in the neighbourhood of Saint Merry at half-past five in the afternoon that day. ' _Eponine was right, there are too few hours in a day for everything,'_ he thought, remembering what she had said to him at the Musain just about two months to the very day.

As Bossuet left the sitting room, Jean Valjean carefully crossed to a shelf to fetch a book. "At the very least you will not be working alone," Jean Valjean said to Enjolras. "It is a terrible burden to have the sole responsibility for a large group's overall welfare."

"You did very well in Montreuil-sur-mer."

"Yet how I wish it had lasted, even after I had to give myself up," Jean Valjean sighed deeply. "Even as early as now, I can see you are besieged too. You must make it clear to yourself what you resolve to hold on to even when it may seem more suitable to do otherwise."

Enjolras nodded, knowing that Jean Valjean was speaking of the time he had denounced himself. ' _A courage that might be said to be more of human in origin,'_ he thought. It was still evident in the peaceful dignity that seemed to suffuse his being.

A knock sounded on the door but before Jean Valjean could hail this newcomer, Cosette stepped in. Although the house was warm, she still had on a thick mantle that helped conceal her rather more rounded middle. "Good afternoon. I just heard now that Bossuet is hoping to help Marius with the glass business?" she greeted a little agitatedly.

"Not with the production, but the more legal side of it," Enjolras replied. "It's good to see that you are well, Citizenness Pontmercy."

Cosette smiled as she settled herself in a large chair. "Thank you. I'm quite glad to be well myself; perhaps I can join Eponine, Claudine, and the others when they go to sit in the gallery. The legislature's first session is tomorrow, isn't it?"

"It is. There is much on the agenda to be discussed, and it might be at a rather late hour before the question of the women's employment is brought to the fore," Enjolras warned.

"Marius will not be pleased to hear that...unless I can ask him to accompany me," Cosette mused. She glanced back to the sitting room door. "I'm only coming in to sit for a little since I have another friend to entertain. She is quite put out with some report she had to convey to me."

"Which is?" Jean Valjean asked worriedly.

Cosette placed both hands on the arms of her chair. "I think you might know by now that the jeweller Citizen Duchamp has a sort of exhibition tonight, at the Rue de Berlin. There have been all sorts of stories about the wares he has on hand, but I hear that he has one particularly exquisite piece featuring a large stone that was supposed to have belonged once to a sultan. Supposedly he intends to give it to Eponine as a sort of gift?"

Enjolras' eyes widened at this incredulous bit of news. "I understand that he was merely tempting her to buy it, as any agent or seller would. He did not say he would give it to her freely," he said. At least that was what he gathered from Eponine's story of her disastrous visit to the Bayard residence. Not only was there this rather cryptic matter of the necklace, but there was the fact that the original intent of the meeting had a less than favourable outcome. ' _Hence the move today to coordinate with the women at Les Halles instead of trying to deal further with Citizenness Bayard,'_ he thought.

"Perhaps it was something in Citizen Duchamp's manner, or another thing that was easily misconstrued. I only meant to shed some light on the matter," Cosette said, her brow crinkling in a perturbed expression. "What is it about the stone anyway? A ruby, I heard but where does a ruby come from?"

"From far away, from a kingdom known as Burma," Jean Valjean answered Cosette. "There is a valley there, known as the Mogok valley. That is supposedly the source."

"The distance adds only to the exorbitance of the price," Enjolras said, recalling vaguely this name being sketched out on a map detailing what was known as the Far East. "It is a strange, remote land-at least according to what the Orientalists say." He was not sure whether the tales of orange clad monks, elephants, and mystic rituals that Prouvaire and his fellow scholars often discussed were in any way accurate representations of any far-off country, but he could not deny that the sense of exoticism was somewhat thrilling.

Cosette frowned, probably also contemplating the distance. "Perhaps the stone must have changed so many hands before...no, it is rather horrid to think about and a little vain," she said, shaking her head. "If there is so much trouble involved, then Citizen Duchamp is perhaps better off selling it than simply letting it go."

' _That would stand to reason,'_ Enjolras thought as Cosette left the room to return to her guest. After a little while he himself took his leave, just as Bossuet was also bidding goodbye to Marius. "So are congratulations in order?" he asked Bossuet as they headed outside.

"Tentative praise. Who knows if it will work?" Bossuet said, leaning a little on the cane he had taken to carrying ever since the assault at Notre Dame. "I am impressed at Citizen Valjean's memory if he can remember the particulars of such a long-gone venture. Had I the gift, I might have been prevailed upon to remain at the law school." He sighed deeply as he inspected his hat, sticking an ink-stained finger through a hole near the brim. "I shall have to get a new one before Musichetta and Joly's wedding. Poor Joly has been so busy at the Bourbe with a whole new group of patients so I doubt he knows about all the preparations Musichetta has in mind."

Enjolras just smirked at the irony of his friend's words. From what he gathered from the rest of their friends, it seemed as if Musichetta's plans for her nuptial celebration were becoming increasingly frantic, with especial attention to sartorial and culinary matters. "Has Joly remembered to at least see to papers and get any necessary dispensations for the ceremony?" he asked.

Bossuet paused and pulled his finger out of his hat. "I shall have to remind him about that. How odd that it should be you who'd remember."

"If only not to accidentally introduce a legal question into the proceedings," Enjolras said dryly, aware of his friend's bemused look.

Bossuet shrugged as they found an omnibus headed in the direction of Les Halles. "I heard that tomorrow is Combeferre's appointment with the panel screening for new lecturers?"

Enjolras nodded. "To be more to the fact, it is a demonstration; he has to present a lesson to them. It's a rather new system in the school, I hear."

"It will concern some act of surgery, no doubt," Bossuet said. "I must make a toast to Claudine's nerves if she can stand to help him proofread the lesson."

"Repeatedly at that; she was at the Rue Jean Jacques Rousseau this morning to help with some final revisions. It's unlikely she will be at Les Halles today for a meeting there," Enjolras replied.

"Ah, and Eponine will be? I never thought I'd see the day you'd give in to gallantry," Bossuet laughed as the omnibus lurched to a stop near Saint Merry.

"It only happens that we all have business in the area," Enjolras pointed out. Judging by the light and the fact that he had yet to hear the bells toll the hour he surmised that it had to be just before five in the afternoon. He and Bossuet alighted from the omnibus and walked towards a large shop selling various foodstuffs. The second floor of this establishment had apparently been converted into a sort of meeting room, judging at least from the hustle and bustle that was visible from the windows.

"We will probably not be allowed upstairs," Bossuet said with a sigh as they approached the shop front. "A political convent. Could such things exist?"

"It is only to avoid any impression of undue political influence," Enjolras pointed out, even as he caught sight of a familiar flash of reddish brown hair in the crowd. After a moment he realized that Eponine was with Musichetta. Both women were huddled a little bit away from the shop's entrance, taking care to avoid much of the crowd. Musichetta was hiding her face in her hands, clearly in an attempt to hide her sobbing despite Eponine's attempts to console her. Enjolras waited a moment till Eponine looked in his direction; it was a signal enough for him to come forward.

It took Bossuet a split second longer to notice this scene, but he had overtaken Enjolras and was at Musichetta's side in an instant. "Chetta my dear, what has happened?" he asked worriedly.

"I can't marry Patrice. It's all over; everyone will know," Musichetta sobbed into Bossuet's shoulder "Someone knows my secret."

Enjolras sat down next to Eponine, moving close enough such that he was sure they would not be overheard. "What happened?' he asked.

Eponine bit her lip. "Olivier Magnon knows that Chetta wasn't born with the name Musichetta Laurain," she whispered. "He gave her a letter today, saying he'd reveal her identity if she didn't help him out."

Musichetta sniffled before looking at her friends. "I never mentioned it since well, I didn't think it would ever be of use to you or anyone except for Patrice and Crispin," she said, indicating Bossuet. "I was once a charity pupil at Picpus, the same place where Cosette grew up. She wouldn't remember me though since I left the same winter she arrived. I came there when I was seven, after much of my family had died from the smallpox. I was brought there under the name Musichetta Laurain; that's how you've always known me, but before that I was Antoinette Magnon. "

"Why did you have to change your name?" Enjolras asked.

"The neighbours gave it to me. They already knew that there was some sort of trouble at home, though I don't think that the nuns would have asked anyhow." Musichetta wiped her face before continuing more steadily. "You may as well know...that Citizenness Magnon who once had Neville and Jacques is actually my older sister. I was surprised she kept her name. That's probably how Olivier Magnon knew of me."

"How does she, Citizenness Magnon, know that you changed your name?" Bossuet asked Musichetta.

"I don't know. People talk. They know I did help with some of the  _Radicaux_ 's work. Maybe she knew all along but didn't say anything..." Musichetta trailed off. "It was all in the letter I got this morning. I tore it up; I know now I shouldn't have but I couldn't help it..."

Enjolras gritted his teeth at this sudden dearth of evidence. "Does he have any proof of the facts? Meaning does he have your birth certificate or some other document?" he asked.

"I do not even know if I have a birth certificate." Musichetta's hands bunched up her skirt as she spoke. "I cannot get married as Antoinette Magnon. That girl is dead; she died of the pox, and her sister forgot her. I don't want anyone knocking on my door or disturbing Patrice, just because I happened to be born under the wrong name."

Eponine squeezed Musichetta's arm. "You'll still get to marry Joly. I don't think that Magnon's telling this and that about you can stop the wedding."

"I could lose my place in the shop. Other things too," Musichetta pointed out. "Even what we are doing here with this new group could be endangered if it was known that a Magnon was involved."

"I don't s'pose that would always be so; I'm not hiding even if I know that being a Thenardier is nearly as bad as being a Magnon," Eponine said. "I could have been a Balizard, a Fabantou, an Alvares, a Genflot, and I once told Marius that I went by Jondrette, but there's no use now to try those names."

"Were those all your father's sobriquets?" Enjolras asked.

"The last five at least; I remember he may have had ten more," Eponine replied, holding out her hands to illustrate the point. "He might have had enough to make some sort of business renting out names."

Enjolras smirked at this dry remark, more so at Bossuet's rather horrified expression. He stepped away to begin looking for his colleague Blanchard, but could not see any sign of him in the area. ' _It is not like him to be less than punctual,'_ he thought, moments before he caught sight of Grantaire and Nicholine accompanying a group of fishwives approaching the vicinity.

Grantaire waved first by way of greeting. "Are you also seeking Citizen Blanchard?"

"Yes. You have the same objective?" Enjolras asked.

"Finding out why he has expressed an interest in this meeting," Grantaire said. He looked towards where Eponine, Musichetta and Bossuet were still talking. "Some harbinger of bad news?"

"Unfortunately," Enjolras replied, carefully grabbing Grantaire's shoulder to steer him away from this scene. "Did Blanchard tell you if he would be delayed in any way?"

"No. Now I will have to borrow Hermes' winged sandals if Nicholine and I are not to be delayed at our next appointment, at the Rue de Berlin," Grantaire said.

"You are writing about that event?" Enjolras asked sceptically.

"I need to pacify Croesus so I may have some bread," Grantaire replied. "Nicholine is also a little curious just to see if anything there will match Harmonia's necklace."

Nicholine pinched Grantaire's wrist. "Why must you always use the ill-fated allusions?"

"My dear, people will be  _ruining_  themselves for his wares; he has created a new Thebes in Paris!" Grantaire said. "I heard from Azelma that he entertains lavishly. Rather perilous, what with his offering pomegranates. Enjolras, you should have warned Eponine about the danger there."

"What danger?"

"Have you forgotten your mythology, specifically the story of Persephone?"

Enjolras raised an eyebrow at this allusion. "I do not think it is particularly appropriate in this situation," he pointed out.

Suddenly Nicholine started. "Isn't that Citizen Blanchard?" she asked, grabbing Grantaire's arm. She pointed to where a man was being supported by two others as they made their way towards what appeared to be another cafe. "Is he well?"

"Perhaps not," Enjolras remarked, clenching his jaw as he saw Blanchard shoved into a doorway. He nodded to Bossuet, who had surreptitiously joined them. Nicholine nodded to Grantaire before hurrying over to where Eponine was talking to a much calmer Musichetta.

The establishment that Blanchard had disappeared into was a rather small hole with a roughly painted sign above the doorway. The words 'Cafe Varigard' could barely be distinguished in the late afternoon light. Enjolras discreetly checked his coat pocket for his pen knife before motioning for Grantaire and Bossuet to follow him to the cafe doorway; even from this close he could hardly distinguish any light or outlines of the usual furniture in a cafe front room. "Citizen Blanchard?" he called into the gloom.

A muffled yell came from a corner followed by the sound of a fist striking flesh, and then a moan. "You call to him again, Citizen Enjolras, it will be my knife next," a figure challenged from the darkness.

Enjolras' eyes narrowed as he took in the vague outline of a tall man standing in the middle of the room. In the dark it was difficult to tell the color of his hair or any other telltale features but the power in his frame was not to be underestimated. He now realized that aside from this man accosting them, there were seven other men in the cafe, and all of them were getting to their feet as if readying for a scuffle.

Before Enjolras could say anything he felt a light, gloved hand at his back. He felt his gut twist as he realized who had just entered the cafe, but he knew better than to look this newcomer in the eye. The man in the middle of the room laughed before nodding to the thugs surrounding them. Enjolras had only a split second to evade a spindly man who tried to pin his arms behind his back. He turned and swiftly dealt a hard punch to this attacker's face before driving the heel of his shoe into this man's midsection. The young man dropped to the floor to avoid a thug who had been about to grab him with the clear intent of driving a knife between his ribs. Out of the corner of his eye, Enjolras caught sight of a long stick on the floor; he knew this was probably Blanchard's cane. He seized this makeshift weapon a moment before his assailant could wrest it out of reach. He swung the cane at the second attacker, hitting his hand hard enough to make him drop his knife, and then dealing a blow to the back of this man's head, sending him to the floor. Nearby, Grantaire, who had acquired Bossuet's cane, already incapacitated one man and was now facing off against two others wielding knives, spinning the cane around in a smooth yet lethal circle. In another corner Bossuet was in a fistfight with a particularly burly goon while another man had nearly pinned Eponine against a table, hitting her twice in the face. As Enjolras ran to this scene, he heard the attacker go down with a yell, clutching at his face while Eponine sprang to her feet, brandishing her assailant's knife.

"Behind you!" Bossuet shouted from someplace. Enjolras wheeled around in time to see the leader of this group lunge at him, brandishing a cudgel. Enjolras used the cane to parry the cudgel before quickly bringing his own weapon up to strike his attacker's shoulder. The assailant stumbled, which allowed for Grantaire to knock him out cold with a blow to the head.

"Athena could not have provided better aid to Perseus," Grantaire said, setting aside his cane. He frowned as he looked at this last assailant. "Would you have any idea who he is?"

"I cannot be sure," Enjolras replied noticing a hairy patch on back of this man's neck. The visage before him was that of a man of some forty years, with dark hair that grew in wisps, a spindly countenance, and a hooked nose. ' _A little like what the Changer said,'_ Enjolras thought as he looked to where Bossuet was trying to untie a still unconscious Blanchard, and to where Eponine was holding her hands to her now rather bloodied nose. "We need to get a doctor."

"For him. All I need is a handkerchief," Eponine managed to say.

Enjolras handed over his own handkerchief and led her out of the cafe while Grantaire and Bossuet carried out Blanchard. They sidestepped the crowd now growing outside the cafe, and ducked into a nearby alley. "Do you know what danger you just  _walked_  into, Eponine?" he asked sharply once they were alone.

She glared at him from behind the now red-spattered handkerchief as she pinched her nose. "Do  _you_?"

"You could have been killed."

"The same with you! You do not just walk into a  _cabinet noir_  and expect nothing to happen!"

It took a moment for Enjolras to realize that this was argot. "A  _cabinet noir_ , meaning a lair?" he asked after a while, looking her in the face.

"I s'pose you could say that," Eponine replied. She handed the handkerchief back to him and took a few shallow breaths, as if she was afraid her nose would start bleeding again. "I know what happens in places like this. You can't say I was being silly about it," she added more defiantly.

Enjolras gritted his teeth at this defiant reply. ' _Then again I should have known better than to expect her to not do anything,'_ he thought, watching her inspect her bloodstained gloves. "You know who we accosted back there," he said after about a minute.

"Yes. I don't think he'll be easy to get anything out of."

"Certainly not. However he will have little choice in the matter; he is wanted for several crimes."

"I'd like to know what he wants with Musichetta so we can tell him to shoo," Eponine's gaze grew a little thoughtful as she regarded him. "There is something though. I remember that Cosette didn't have a birth certificate either, or at least one she remembers, so I think Citizen Valjean took care of that sort of difficulty before Marius and Cosette's wedding. Now you and Courfeyrac are lawyers, and Bossuet is something close to a lawyer. Is it possible for you or someone to write a paper like Citizen Valjean did?"

"Are you referring to an  _acte de notoriete?"_

"Is that what lawyers call that sort of paper that says something is true?"

"Yes, a legal document attesting a fact, or at least some sort of statement. That would be one means, unless the Magnons themselves can contest it with sufficient evidence," he explained, now feeling a little calmer. "That was why I asked about papers earlier."

"I s'pose the question now would be how to get the Magnons to  _not_  say anything about Musichetta, but to talk about everything else," she said ruefully as she pulled off her gloves and pocketed them. She ran her hands through her hair, frowning as she pulled out several pins that had been bent out of shape during the scuffle. "I shall have to wear my hair down tomorrow. Terrible isn't it?"

"You might find it suits you," Enjolras said, reaching over to extricate a last hairpin she'd forgotten.

Eponine's cheeks reddened slightly. "What do you think?" she asked coyly.

"Why do you ask?"

"Oh I simply want to know," she said with a mischievous smile. "I'm sorry about ruining your handkerchief."

"That doesn't matter, Eponine. I'd rather have you safe." He would have kissed her to prove the point, had it not been for the fact that they were still in a rather busy locale. "They're probably looking for you back at the meeting place. Musichetta needs you," he said, touching her chin.

"While you need to make sure about Citizen Blanchard," she pointed out. "Tonight though, you'll be home? Maybe later than usual, but I will see you?"

"You will," he promised her as they left the alley. He waited to see that she was back at her meeting before he walked down the street to a nearby house, where Bossuet and some bystanders tended to Blanchard, who was stretched out on a pallet and beginning to regain consciousness.

Blanchard blinked blearily when he saw Enjolras. "That was you who yelled for me back there?" he asked in a throaty voice.

"It was. Are you hurt anywhere else?" Enjolras asked concernedly.

Blanchard groaned before sitting up to inspect his hands and feet. "I cannot think of where, but I will need assistance returning home," he said weakly. "I think I was followed on an omnibus from the area of the Palais de Justice."

Bossuet whistled at this implied distance. "Could you remember who did it?"

The older lawyer shook his head. "A man in a large hat; yes, that is not helpful. But those men in that hole were all caught?"

"I should hope so," Enjolras said. He did not want to inspire too much confidence, knowing that it was possible that these attackers had other accomplices. "Did anyone else know you were coming here?"

Blanchard scratched his head. "You, Citizen Grantaire, and...ah, wait, some of the hangers-on at the Palais de Justice."

' _So much for simplifying the matter,'_ Enjolras thought, more so when he saw Blanchard sink back on the pallet and shut his eyes, clearly overwhelmed. "He lives in the Marais. We can bring him there via fiacre," he said to the bystanders.

"I'll do it," Bossuet volunteered. "He lives with his cousin, and I know the address..." he added more sheepishly.

"The better for you then," Enjolras said knowingly, understanding that his friend meant to speak to his own mistress. "What about Musichetta?"

"She's with Eponine," Bossuet said. "They'll finish their meeting and then they'll go off to the Bourbe. Poor Joly; he and Chetta will have much to discuss. I'm best not being with them for a while."

"He will know what to do," Enjolras reassured him. ' _Not necessarily in the practical sense, but he will set the stage to solve this problem,'_ he mused as he accompanied Bossuet to search for a fiacre.


	54. Tenuous Links and Nightmares

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A warning here for some discussion of PTSD/nightmares.

**Chapter 54: Tenuous Links and Nightmares**

Even though it had been minutes since the escape from the  _cabinet noir_ , Eponine found that she was still unable to calm down or find a moment to catch her breath. ' _I chose a fine day to leave my pistols at home,'_ she berated herself as she made her way through the crowded first floor of the shop where the meeting had been. She happened to pass by a slightly cracked mirror in a corner and scowled on seeing her dishevelled hair and her still rather red nose. ' _If my eyes were red too, people would think I'd gotten into a fight of a different sort,'_ she thought a little ruefully, rubbing a sore spot on her scalp from where a hairpin had been sticking rather painfully during the fight.

"Eponine!" Nicholine called as she hurried over to the corner and hugged Eponine. "Grantaire told me you were injured in the fight?"

"Only a bit of a bloody nose," Eponine replied, stiffly disentangling herself from her friend's embrace. "Did any of it get on my dress?"

Nicholine shook her head. "I can't believe that Citizen Enjolras didn't tell you to stay out of it!"

"He didn't know she was there till the fight started," Grantaire chimed in as he approached them. "Apollo and Artemis. I never would have thought of it."

Eponine laughed. "They were archers, not fencers. And I do not think that being Artemis would suit me in any case."

"Why not?

"Artemis was a goddess of the wild things. I don't do well in the woods."

"Perhaps you'd like to be a goddess of the cities...but I don't see you as Hestia. What about Athena?"

"I think that's better for someone like Claudine."

Meanwhile Nicholine put her hands akimbo. "If you give me a mythological name, you two can go to the Rue de Berlin by yourselves."

"I prefer to elevate you to some other pantheon," Grantaire replied, pulling Nicholine to his side.

Eponine raised an eyebrow. "I wasn't planning to be there. I do not have enough francs for the sorts of things Citizen Duchamp was showing."

"I heard that he has some more affordable things, Anyway what is the harm in looking?" Nicholine said.

Eponine bit her lip, remembering once again the night at the Bayards' residence and the necklace she had nearly been talked into trying on. ' _It would have been like wearing fire,'_ she thought, seeing once again before her eyes the deep crimson and golden tortoiseshell of the piece. She swallowed hard even as she saw Musichetta hurrying into the shop, with Leonor following a few steps behind her. "I thought you'd be with Bossuet," she said to Musichetta.

"No, I said I'd stay with you, but I have to see Patrice after this," Musichetta said, sounding more composed than she had been half an hour ago. She gestured to Eponine's hands. "What happened to your gloves?"

"Ruined them, I think. Worse than what happened at Notre Dame," Eponine replied. She quickly tucked her bare hands behind her back and nodded to a heavyset matron lumbering up to them. This woman was a leader among the  _poissardes_  of Les Halles. "I'm sorry that I had to run out for a while, Citizenness Legendre," Eponine said apologetically.

"There is no worry. We only have a few matters left to clarify," the matron replied in a business like tone as she sat on a barrel. "So tomorrow, will our delegation be guaranteed entrance to the session?"

"From three o'clock onwards, so we can hear Lafayette's address to the legislature and the members of various committees," Eponine said. It was a new practice, instituted by the demand of the political parties as well as a few of the older luminaries of the previous government.

"After that will be the discussions on the petitions and proposed laws?"

"I s'pose so. Everyone will be allowed into the session, not just us. The gallery might be full."

"The session is at the Hotel de Ville; it will be holding the Convention in a barrel," Grantaire remarked. "What? That wasn't a classical allusion!" he protested when Nicholine pinched him again.

"If that is the case we have to be early if we want to actually  _sit_ ," Leonor chimed in. "Maybe as early as two o'clock."

Citizenness Legendre rubbed her ruddy chin. "I will need to ask the ladies who are on half-holiday to be at the Hotel de Ville earlier then. All in all there should be about two dozen of us."

"And maybe about a dozen or so from the Latin Quartier," Musichetta said.

Leonor looked at Eponine. "What about you? Your brothers don't end their classes till four in the afternoon, usually."

"Gavroche can take charge of Neville and Jacques. He can manage for a few hours if he brings them straight home," Eponine answered. ' _I need to trust him enough for it,'_ she decided.

Citizenness Legendre looked pointedly at Eponine. "I wish you could get Citizen Enjolras to present our petition to his fellow legislators and Lafayette."

"He could let us have the podium so we can talk about it ourselves," Eponine replied.

"I see. Will he vote in our favour?"

"I will not speak for him there."

Citizenness Legendre laughed derisively. "What kind of woman does not know the mind of her man?"

Eponine could feel her cheeks beginning to burn at this jibe. "I know it but I am not pushing it. I could say what I think or tell him what we talk about, and that is all."

"He's never said he was against it, so that is a good enough beginning," Musichetta cut in.

The matron chewed on her fat lower lip. "If you are content with that," she remarked, giving Eponine a grave look.

"It's further than most anyone has ever come," Eponine pointed out.

Citizenness Legendre sighed and nodded more affably. "I trust that you will not be late tomorrow," she said before lumbering off to harangue her friends and neighbours.

Nicholine pursed her lips together. "If the women of Les Halles are this way, it is no wonder that Jeanne considers them formidable."

"They are after all, somewhat different from the species known as the Latin Quartier grisette," Grantaire said. "The Furies beside the Graces-"

Leonor threw the journalist an exasperated glance before giving Eponine a worried look. "Eponine, you have to come to the show that Duchamp is throwing. Your sister will be there."

"With Prouvaire, I am certain. Maybe even Bahorel and Therese," Eponine said dryly.

"They cannot check her," Leonor retorted. "Especially with Combeferre and Claudine at Picpus again."

"That  _is_  a little harsh. Maybe some of us are not as straight-laced as Feuilly is but that doesn't give you the right to say that," Musichetta said.

Leonor rolled her eyes. "She's intent on making a terribly expensive bid, regarding a necklace of rubies."

It was all that Eponine could do not to groan at the mention again of the ruby necklace. "Where is she going to come across that sort of sum? She doesn't work, and I don't think she'd ask Prouvaire for it!"

"Exactly why you should go before she does something foolish," Leonor pointed out.

' _It's that, or she'll cause a scene when I tell her she's being silly,'_ Eponine thought. "I shan't stay long at the place though."

Musichetta cleared her throat. "It might be a little out of the way, but may we stop by the Rue de la Vererrie first? I think Courfeyrac is home. I'd like to ask him if there is any way on paper or in the courts that I can change my name or at least renounce what comes with it."

"You had two other lawyers here a while ago, why didn't you ask them?" Nicholine asked.

"Because Enjolras is a legislator and he really shouldn't be too involved in this personal business. As for Bossuet, the dear man doesn't have the license for it," Musichetta explained.

"That settles the question then. We'll all go with you," Grantaire said to her.

"But your appointment-"Nicholine protested.

"Those shows never start on time, and we shall not be missed as much as the earth misses Helios," Grantaire said. Within a few minutes the entire group had taken leave of their companions and was headed for 16, Rue de la Verrerie.

Paulette greeted them at the door of the apartment. "I didn't know we'd have a meeting here tonight," she said to her friends perplexedly.

"It's an emergency. I hope I didn't interrupt you or Courfeyrac," Musichetta apologized.

"Oh it's no worry; we were only at our usual debate about names," Paulette said. She looked over her shoulder and sighed. "Maurice, our friends are here. Please put on your waistcoat."

"Only that? It would cause quite the scandal," Courfeyrac called merrily.

"Maurice, please!"

Grantaire barely hid his guffaws while Musichetta, Eponine, and Nicholine laughed. Only Leonor hid her face in her hands, clearly uncomfortable at this situation. Paulette shook her head embarrassedly before finally letting her friends into the room.

Meanwhile Courfeyrac looked up from where he was fastening his waistcoat. The curls in his hair were a little out of place, but that was perhaps because of spending the whole day at work. "To what do I owe this visit?" he asked jovially as everyone found places to sit.

"A matter of law; I need a licensed attorney who is free to move as he wishes," Musichetta answered before proceeding to explain her problem.

Courfeyrac clucked his tongue as Musichetta finished her narrative. "For the first time in all the years of our acquaintance, you are making me think like a lawyer!"

"I think that is fortunate," Musichetta said, managing a smile. "Is there anything that can be done?"

The young attorney's expression turned pensive. "In a theoretical sense, there really is nothing wrong if you are married as Antoinette Magnon. In a way, we cannot undo the curse of our relations."

"You said it was a curse, and there is no better word for it," Musichetta replied. "As I am, I don't think I've done anything wrong, aside of course from harbouring men on the police watch list and having revolutionary sympathies, but that was with the past regime. Why should I be less innocent if two or more of my relatives want to persist in crime?"

"You will always be Musichetta to us since your real name is far too royalist," Courfeyrac said. "As your friend though, I do not want to end up putting you in legal trouble or endangering your marriage with Joly by having you commit an irregularity."

"Isn't there any way to change my name?"

"If you mean by making an  _acte de notoriete,_ that is only one of the things you will need. However the process will entail some time."

Musichetta's smile turned grim. "Tell me then."

While Courfeyrac began explaining this legal act to Musichetta, Paulette looked at Eponine. "Haven't you ever considered it yourself?" she asked in an undertone.

"Changing my name?" Eponine asked. "It wouldn't do much good. I've been in prison already and my name is known to the police. Besides, we Thenardiers weren't always so wretched."

"The only change of name you should hope for ought to be the one before the mayor and the cure," Paulette said merrily. "I want to see you come to that."

"Not any time soon," Eponine pointed out. "Paulette, have you got a comb or some ornament I could borrow? I need to go to the Rue de Berlin tonight, and I cannot go with my hair like this."

"I was about to ask you what had happened there," Paulette said, slowly getting to her feet and ambling over to a small table that served as a sort of dresser. "What about pins?"

"Maybe not," Eponine said, trying not to wince at the memory of what happened earlier in the fight.

Paulette held up a simple silver comb for her friend's inspection. "Will this do?"

"I s'pose. Thank you," Eponine said, taking the comb and beginning to pile up her hair. She frowned as some strands slipped in her face. "I can never quite do this right!"

Paulette sighed as she went over to help. "I know you want to look all fashionable with knots and feathers, but you never seem to have time for it. What about trying it tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow?"

"The legislature session, Eponine. The other ladies will be there, you know, the wives and sweethearts maybe of some politicians and so-and-so."

Eponine swallowed hard; she'd been worried about this for quite a few days now and even at this moment her plans for this sartorial question were at best, nebulous. "I'll try not to be the worst looking woman there."

"Oh nonsense. You're turning out to be quite the beauty you know. No wonder you attract a great deal of attention nowadays, especially when you smile," Paulette said, placing the comb in Eponine's hair and stepping back to take a look at her handiwork. "You should wear that lovely maroon dress of yours, maybe put a different lace collar if you can find one," she advised.

Eponine did not say anything but she continued to look in the mirror that leaned on Paulette's makeshift dresser. ' _Is beautiful really the word?'_ she wondered, taking in the sight of her rosy cheeks and even the slight tilt to her lips. She smiled tentatively, and found she liked the result. "Have you thought of godparents yet?" she asked Paulette.

"If I could, I'd get  _all_  of you as godparents but that would be ridiculous and you'd spoil my child to the high heavens," Paulette said. "Maurice and I haven't settled it yet. We have weeks yet."

"Now don't frighten me there, Paulette!" Courfeyrac called as he got up from his seat. "What do you say to supper at the Cafe Bon Vivant?" he asked his mistress, placing his hands on her shoulders.

"But everyone else-"

"We'll go with Musichetta to the Bourbe to see Joly, and so I can explain what might have to be done.  _Then_  we can go to the Cafe Bon Vivant. Everyone else is off to the Rue de Berlin."

Paulette gave her friends a questioning look. "I've been hearing the oddest things about the show there tonight. Some downright ridiculous."

"Such as?" Leonor asked testily.

"There is one about the Lafontaines and half a million francs," Courfeyrac said as he finished tying his cravat. "My dear friend is ruining himself for his young wife, or one of his sisters, depending on who is to be believed."

"The one I heard says that it is Citizenness Bayard, the host of that jeweller, who wants the necklace and is running her husband in the ground for it," Nicholine chimed in.

Grantaire winced. "That is not even the worst that is going about."

Paulette sighed. "They also say that you, my dear, asked Enjolras to get the necklace for you."

Eponine's jaw dropped at this accusation. "I wouldn't! He's never even seen it either!"

"Absolutely ridiculous, as I said. Well you'd best know if you're going to the Rue de Berlin," Paulette added sympathetically. "Wouldn't want to have your evening upset again by some misunderstanding."

Eponine nodded tersely, even as she was already working out how the entire visit to the Bayards had been so grossly misconstrued. ' _If not for Azelma, I would be best off not going,'_ she thought, but the idea of her sister prattling on heedlessly was enough to crystallize her resolve despite the continued queries of her friends. At length she caught Musichetta's pensive look. "Is there anything more we can do?"

"We'll be fine. Now I have to make sure Patrice will not worry," Musichetta said, sounding truly confident for the first time. "You're in good hands; you won't be alone when dealing with Azelma," she added as they followed Leonor, Grantaire, and Nicholine out of the apartment, leaving Courfeyrac and Paulette to finish getting ready. Within a few minutes Courfeyrac, Paulette, and Musichetta were searching for a fiacre to bring them across the Seine and towards the Bourbe, leaving the other four young people to go by omnibus to the neighbourhood of Rue de Berlin.

As some people predicted he would, Duchamp had rented out the entire ground floor of a large house in order to accommodate his entire spread of wares, and more importantly, the droves of potential buyers and hangers-on. One entire side of the Rue de Berlin leading up to the house was crowded with all sizes and shapes of carriages, some of them belonging even to guests from outside of Paris.

' _So many people here that a thief can simply slink away into the shadows,'_ Eponine couldn't help thinking even as she and her friends made their way through the throng filling up the front rooms of the house. The entire situation was complicated by the fact that there were servers milling about carrying wine and confections on trays. The sheer volume of admirers did not detract from the opulence of the jewels being exhibited in glass cases. Eponine recognized some of the fine pieces she had seen days ago, as well as other exquisite works: brooches featuring emeralds, a set of opal bracelets, and even a tiara studded with pearls. As she was surveying a ring of aquamarine, she suddenly felt a gloved hand close about her arm and yank her backwards, nearly making her stumble into a table. "You have a lot of nerve showing up here, Citizenness Thenardier," Angelique Lafontaine spat.

"I'm only here for my sister, Azelma," Eponine retorted, shaking off the woman's grip.

Angelique crossed her arms. "That is a likely story! You have been negotiating with Citizen Duchamp!"

Even though Eponine knew it was probably not the best idea to do so, she could not help laughing out loud at this accusation. "I haven't seen him since that night at the Bayards; I haven't had reason to."

"You little liar. Isn't that the very reason his best piece isn't up for sale this evening?" Angelique hissed.

Eponine looked at Angelique confusedly till she realized what she was referring to. "Then he must have been negotiating with someone else."

"Who then?"

So many names threatened to leap to Eponine's lips but she bit her tongue. "There are other people who'd know more than me. I s'pose you'd be better asking them," she said, willing herself to at least sound calm, even if she knew that there were people shooting glances in their direction.

"I do not believe you," Angelique replied, dusting something off the soft white leather of her right glove. "Why else were you at the Bayards?"

"To talk to Citizenness Bayard herself, about something completely different. Politics," Eponine said. "I thought my sister would have mentioned that."

"A likely cover!"

"For what?" Eponine demanded. At that moment she could see that a few paces away, Nicholine and Leonor had located Bahorel and Therese, and was now talking rather heatedly with them. ' _Did Grantaire go off to find Azelma and Prouvaire?'_ she wondered, looking around this time to the end of the hallway. She blinked when she caught sight of Duchamp regaling a group of young people, some of whom she recognized as Dumas' admirers and pupils from the salon at the Rue de Bac. She saw Azelma and Prouvaire in this circle, laughing along with one of the jeweller's stories. Eponine bit her lip when she saw Azelma say something that elicited a round of laughter from this gathering. ' _It's far too easy for her,'_ she thought, looking away at the sight of Prouvaire kissing her sister's cheek.

Angelique smiled sardonically at her. "You will have to bid against her too. Last I heard she was readying to spend five thousand francs."

"She does not have five thousand francs," Eponine said through gritted teeth. ' _If she does, she probably does not even have it in hand,'_ she thought, recalling how she'd been warned about the perils of having anything on credit.

"Oh she has," Angelique said, gesturing to Prouvaire. She raised an eyebrow when she saw Grantaire approaching them. "Are you lost, Citizen?"

"I am merely cruising," Grantaire replied with a grin. "I do not believe we have met, Citizenness-"

"Lafontaine," Angelique said stiffly.

"Ah yes, the wife of-"

"Auguste Lafontaine," Angelique said in a clipped tone. "You are Citizen-"

"Grantaire."

"I do not believe I have heard of that name," Angelique replied, feigning a ponderous tone. "Unfortunately I am not one to be interviewed; I would suggest you course any inquiries directly to my spouse. Thank you, Citizen Grantaire."

Grantaire let out a dramatic sigh. "I may as well have been Tantalus," he said wryly. "So you've probably heard that Citizen Duchamp is holding out."

"On a ruby necklace," Eponine said, lowering her voice. "Everyone has something to say about it."

"I have the story of the stone in it," Grantaire replied. "That ruby is a traveller. Every ruby is. This one belonged to one of the chiefs of the Mogok valley, in Burma."

The young woman smirked at the name of this country that she had seen only in a map at Ravigard's shop. "Does it take a year and a day for any stones to get here?"

"Not as long as that. The addition of money: pounds, francs, and everything else makes it faster," Grantaire said. "The ruby was stolen from the headman, and then sold to a trader who smuggled it to Persia. There it was put in the gold setting you see it in, and then picked up from there. So Herodotus would prefer to say."

Something in Grantaire's tone made Eponine feel uneasy. "But what would another scribe say?"

"The headman was murdered for his wealth, and there was a clandestine trade involved in getting it from Persia to Marseilles," Grantaire replied. "The House of Thebes met the House of Atreus there, as the ruby was in the headman's family..."

"It's even worse than an opera. How did you find this out? Citizen Duchamp said he'd only tell the story to the buyer," Eponine asked furtively.

"It's not that difficult to look up a stone if one knows the traders," Grantaire replied. "He will not simply part with the stone alone for what was it, five thousand francs?"

"I am willing to bet, half of Paris. The Marais and perhaps this end of the city, not Les Halles!"

"It's Harmonia's necklace. Half of Paris...and several generations."

Eponine winced at this. "Who then, can afford such a thing?"

"You know that money is not the only form of payment. The Greeks proved as much, as did the Convention from the Girondists to Jacobins," Grantaire replied wryly.

"For kingdoms and a republic..." Eponine trailed off, knowing better than to continue lest she let on inadvertently about her own being sorely tempted. It was just as well since at that moment Bahorel and Therese walked up, with a confused Prouvaire and a surly Azelma in tow.

"Quite the evening," Bahorel said, shaking his head. "More dreary than an opera intermission."

Therese gave him a long suffering look. "That is because between acts, you go looking for people to have a good talk to, and we know how that sometimes ends." She nodded to Eponine. "Nicholine told me the trouble, but I heard some of it too even before you arrived. Apparently there is more than one thing he is hiding-"

"As a present," Azelma interrupted. "That is his matter, isn't it?"

"Yes, but why must everyone know about who he's giving or not giving to? There is a reason," Bahorel pointed out.

"Such as?" Prouvaire asked.

"He could aim to increase his bids by making everyone keenly aware of what is before then or what others are willing to pay. It is that, or he is out to cause some sort of mischief," Therese explained. "If I was a jeweller, I'd do the first."

"Maybe he simply likes to be generous," Azelma huffed. "I don't see why you are so worried about it, Ponine," she told her sister. "He'd give you something too."

"If it will bring me trouble and questioning like what Citizenness Lafontaine did just now, then I s'pose I wouldn't like it much," Eponine replied.

"You simply are jealous," Azelma taunted.

Prouvaire took Azelma's arm. "Your sister is right; there are far too many questions going about. Not just about her, but about many of us who are here. Someone could get into a serious misunderstanding."

"What does it matter?" Azelma said.

"If we're trying to get things done, it can. Remember Don Quixote? How he was chasing the windmill?" Prouvaire told her. He sighed at her uncomprehending look. "An unpleasant surprise disguised as something wonderful?" he added.

"Yes, but it's only a necklace and a few pieces," Azelma muttered. "Pretty things, and I don't think it will matter."

"And yet a mystery since why was Citizen Duchamp never in Paris before?" Bahorel said. "Why his sudden appearance, and his entrance?"

"You're thinking too much like an inspector," Azelma chided him. "That or a bad playwright."

Bahorel laughed. "I hope for the latter, my dear Azelma." His beard twitched as he looked down, clearly deep in thought. "It might be better if we distance ourselves from these shows and any transactions with him, until the queries die down, and even for a while after."

" _All_  of them?" Azelma asked, her eyes going wide.

"You'll still have a chance to meet the Lafontaines and your other friends," Eponine pointed out. "Maybe not here but elsewhere."

Azelma gave her an indignant look. "You cannot do that."

"It does seem a little extreme," Therese told Bahorel uneasily. "As long as we express disinterest, maybe we need not always be absent."

"We cannot take any chances. Some of my colleagues in the presses are quick to make conjectures," Grantaire told her. He motioned to Nicholine and Leonor, who had broken away from a conversation with some  _Radicaux_  members; Paquet was in this group, oddly enough. "We are planning our exile from this sphere," Grantaire told the women.

Leonor nodded. "I say we never should have entered."

Eponine glared at her. "You were the one who met Citizenness Bayard first, and if you hadn't met her, then Claudine and I wouldn't have been there at her house and met Citizen Duchamp!"

"Because I had  _no_  idea it would result to this sort of frippery," Leonor seethed.

Nicholine sighed as she adjusted her own pelisse. "I think that at least you would have known eventually, Eponine. You're quite conspicuous. You and Claudine to be exact. Like it or not, we  _all_  would have been embroiled in some way or another since I gather, there is no such thing as a secret. Especially where you gentlemen are concerned," she said, looking pointedly at Prouvaire, Grantaire, and Bahorel.

"It comes from so many years of association," Grantaire pointed out mirthfully.

"Well all the more we should be careful. We cannot risk anything being misconstrued especially since some of us are handling delicate affairs. Combeferre has a post he is aiming for, Grantaire has his writing, Feuilly is in England and cannot afford to come home to a tumbled house, and of course there are the efforts in the legislature," Bahorel said. "None of us, I understand, has exchanged any money with Citizen Duchamp?"

Therese sighed guiltily. "I almost did, for one of the smaller pendants."

"I shall get you one from a safer source," Bahorel promised.

"Safer? Are you planning to investigate him?" Prouvaire asked. "He may be odd but I do not think he is suspicious in particular."

Bahorel nodded. "I know you have warned me about my tendencies, Prouvaire, but I still want to ascertain a few things about him. In the meantime, we'd better warn the others discreetly. Hopefully this will be a temporary spell," he said, aiming these last words at Azelma, who finally nodded in assent.

Leonor smoothed out her dress. "Now I do wish that Gilles was here..."

"I s'pose it's good though that he isn't since the Lafontaines work in diplomacy and it might go badly for him," Eponine said. ' _Perhaps it's just as well that Enjolras, Combeferre, and Claudine aren't here tonight either or there might have been more scenes,'_ she decided. Just remembering Enjolras' fierce and yet impassive manner in combat earlier that afternoon was enough to send a shiver through her; she knew to expect the same cool fury if he was ever confronted with similarly sharp words.

"Given this, we probably should take our leave now, "Prouvaire suggested.

"Citizenness Thenardier!" Duchamp's voice cut through the din. The jeweller was grinning as he strode up to this group of young people. "Have you found anything here to your liking?" he asked Eponine in a kindly tone.

"Unfortunately nothing here suits me," Eponine replied.

"Your taste is particular then," Duchamp remarked. "As for the piece you fancied, I am afraid I could not exhibit it tonight. You will notice that I do not have some stones such as diamonds or rubies on display. It is far too much of a risk."

It was all that Eponine could do to keep a straight face, aware that Azelma and all their friends were now giving her curious looks. "I was curious but only because it was new. That is all though."

"A shame. A lady like you could use such a fine piece. I hear that tomorrow is the first day of the legislature and it is as good as a gathering of high society despite this revolution," Duchamp pointed out. "It would have been fantastic, especially with your hair."

"I s'pose but it wouldn't be quite fair to be discussing wages when I'm wearing that something grand around my neck."

Duchamp laughed. "You are quite astute for someone so young. Perhaps under better circumstances?"

Eponine shrugged. "I cannot say. Good evening to you, Citizen Duchamp," she said before quickly following her friends out of the house. Owing to the late hour and the sudden congestion of the street, it took time before they could all find enough fiacres for them to leave the neighbourhood. Eponine went with Grantaire and Nicholine as far as the neighbourhood of the Rue de Gres, and insisted on walking back the rest of the way to the Rue Jean Jacques Rousseau. ' _I do need to think of how to tell Enjolras about all of this,'_ she decided. She hated to relay bad news to him at such a busy time, but there was no other way she could think of going about the matter if only to ensure that he would not be caught off-guard. After all it was the only fair thing to do for a man who had sworn never to deny her.

When she arrived at the tenement, she had to let herself in with her passkey; the lights in Citizennness Leclair's lodge were out, as well as all the lights in the second and third floors. ' _It is likely that Combeferre isn't back from Picpus. Yet would Enjolras still be with Citizen Blanchard, or would he be asleep already?"_ she wondered silently. She knocked twice on his door for good measure, but received silence as her only reply. Sighing disappointedly, she went to her own room to undress for bed as swiftly and silently as possible, in order not to wake up her brothers. She carefully set down Paulette's comb on a table, making sure to run her fingers through her hair in a hurried effort to get rid of any tangles, and then undressed so that she was only in her chemise.

' _If Jacques is asleep here, and not fretting about, perhaps Enjolras convinced him to go to sleep?"_ she wondered when she found her youngest brother curled up rather comfortably under two blankets. It was a thought that made her smile, even as she tried to find some room in the creaky bed they shared.

Almost as soon as she closed her eyes and pulled the blankets up to her chin, she heard a low sound that was somewhere between a cry and muffled keening. She opened her eyes and lay still, shivering when she heard the sound again, but this time a little longer. ' _I am not dreaming,'_ she told herself. She sat up and looked around; her brothers were perfectly tranquil. Jacques shifted slightly in his sleep, while somehow Gavroche and Neville were curled up together in the other bed. Even their cat was stretched out peacefully on top of the blankets. ' _It's from somewhere in the house, but who?'_ she wondered. Was one of her neighbours ill or injured? Was there an intruder?

When she heard this agonized sound a third time, she quickly got out of bed and ran to Enjolras' door. "Antoine!" she shouted, knocking rapidly. When she did not hear any footsteps or even something close to a reply, she tried the door. ' _It was unlocked all along!'_ she realized before she slipped into the room, hurrying over to the young man who had fallen asleep at his desk. His head was buried in his arms, and his hands were curled tightly into fists. She grabbed his shoulders and shook him sharply. "Wake up!"

Enjolras' eyes flew open and he raised his head slightly from the desk. "Eponine?"

"Yes. I think you were having a nightmare. I could hear you," she said.

His pallid cheeks reddened for a moment as he sat up, his hand touching hers for a quick moment. "Did I wake you up?"

She shook her head. "I only returned home just now, can you believe it?" she replied. ' _And haven't I got a story to tell!'_ she thought, but she bit her lip, deciding against regaling him with the tale of her evening. "What was it about?"

Enjolras averted his gaze and got up from his chair. He walked away from her so he could sit on his bed. "It was just a dream."

"It never is  _just_ nothing with you, Antoine," she pointed out. "You always have a reason for things."

"It's already very late," he protested.

"I know. You promised that we'd see each other even if it would be later than usual," she reminded him, pulling up one of his chairs right to his bedside. "Won't you tell me a little?"

"You shouldn't have to worry about this."

"I will if I worry that you're sick or something like it. Anyway I would have asked since you might have woken up everyone."

Enjolras chuckled weakly at her words. "Was it that bad?"

"You'd say so if you could hear yourself," she replied. She touched his knee gently. "Antoine?"

He shook his head as he reached for her hand, gripping it firmly. "There is nothing you can do to help me this time."

"I have bad dreams too. Don't you think I'd know even a little about these things?" It was becoming plain to her that Enjolras had been tormented with these dreams for a while; suddenly all the instances wherein she'd found him haggard and yawning became clear to her. "I don't want you to go about tomorrow looking so tired like this. Maybe it seems silly, but it troubles you and I think you could tell me about it," she whispered as she inched closer, reaching up to run her free hand through his hair.

He took a deep, ragged breath as he caught her other hand and looked her in the face. "You're right. It's not just a dream."

Eponine bit her lip, remembering now how he'd sounded so far off when he'd described to her his stay in Marseilles. "Something you remember?"

"What I do not  _wish_  to remember," Enjolras corrected. He sighed wearily. "I've seen a lot of terrible things, but there are some incidents that seem to repeat themselves. Notre Dame for instance."

She bit her lip at the harrowing memory his words evoked. "I still remember you stumbling in, what with happened to your ankle."

"I see everyone who hid in that cathedral," he said slowly, gripping Eponine's hands more tightly. "It always begins with my not finding you after that dais collapsed."

"You know I ran because I had to find Gavroche."

"It's good that you did."

Eponine smiled grimly. "So you see me too?"

"Lying on the cathedral floor." He swallowed hard. "You remember the rest."

"I s'pose it's not easy to shake," she conceded. A rather startling thought occurred to her and she moved to sit next to him on the bed. "So I s'pose...you were dreaming just now of what happened back at the  _cabinet noir_?"

Enjolras shook his head even as his hand was already running through the ends of her hair. "That might have been something to dream about tomorrow night."

"So what then?"

"The day the Stendhals' house was broken into."

Eponine looked at him perplexedly. "What? You weren't there."

"Not at the same time you were. You, the Stendhals, and Grantaire had been gone for some minutes, maybe even a whole hour," he explained, reaching out to pull her hair behind her ears. "I was at the Place du Pantheon. Foulon was brought there, with his arm broken. He said that he'd encountered Magnon, and from there it was simple to work out where he was likely to be next."

Now Eponine winced, realizing now what he might have seen that afternoon. "He really made a mess of that hallway; it took two days for me and Emile to clean it up. Did you know he must have cut himself trying to get to us through the window?"

"I thought of something worse," he admitted. "That was how I found Magnon's glasses since I had to chase him as far as the Place Saint-Michel."

"Oh, so that explains some things," she murmured.

"Now you know." Enjolras ran his thumb over her cheeks, moving down to linger over her lips. "It's ridiculous, Eponine. I  _know_  you can take care of yourself; you're better at it than I am, but I still worry."

"I'd worry if you didn't worry even a little. I'd also be dreaming much the same way too if I was you and you were me." She slipped her arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer when she felt his hands on the small of her back, clinging as if for dear life. "I won't let you lose me," she said in his ear.

He nestled his chin against her shoulder and buried his face in her hair. "I'm sure of it."

She nodded even as she shut her eyes, feeling his breathing grow deeper and easier, more in time with hers. After a while she managed to push them both down so that they were lying on the bed. "I'm not going anywhere, Antoine,' she said, pulling away so she could meet his drowsy and yet surprised expression.

"But—"

"No, I want to make sure you'll sleep properly for once."

Enjolras smirked sleepily before pulling her close again, settling an arm over her waist. "Next thing I know you'll be worrying about me."

"We'll take turns," Eponine quipped. She felt him smile against her neck as she began running her hands up and down his back to try to soothe him further to sleep. ' _I'll just tell him the rest of the story in the morning,' '_ she resolved.

She did not quite remember closing her eyes or drifting off, but the next thing she felt was a warm hand shaking her gently. "Eponine, it's dawn already," she heard Enjolras say from seemingly far off.

"What?" she murmured, still caught someplace between slumber and wakefulness. She opened her eyes and blinked twice when she realized she was definitely not in her own room. She nearly started when she finally caught sight of Enjolras sitting next to her, his smile someplace between affectionate and bemused. "Antoine did we..."

"Fall asleep? Yes, and only that," he quipped, taking her hand to help her sit up. He bent to kiss her forehead. "You're harder to wake up than I thought."

"I had a long night, perhaps you could tell me why?" she teased. ' _Did we really fall asleep like this?'_ she wondered, now painfully aware that she was in nothing but her chemise, and that Enjolras was only in his shirt and trousers. Yet it heartened her to see that for the first time in a number of days, he looked better rested.  _'Ready for today, no doubt,'_ she thought, catching his gaze for a moment.

Enjolras averted his eyes even as he turned a little red. "I don't hear your brothers yet. You still have time to get back."

"It's a lost cause," she said, stepping off the bed. "And it's not the first time I've spent the night here."

Enjolras paused to think before a look of comprehension spread over his face. "The first time you ever came here, after I saw you at the Seine."

"Yes, but I think I like it better this way," she said, giggling when she saw him go even redder. Before she could open the door, she heard footsteps from outside. "Did Combeferre just get back?"

"Maybe. I'll deal with him," Enjolras said, going to the door at the exact moment someone knocked from the other side. He motioned for Eponine to step out of sight before he opened the door. "Good morning Combeferre," he greeted candidly.

"Have you seen Eponine? I just knocked on her door and Gavroche said she isn't there..." the physician asked worriedly.

Eponine cringed but she willed herself to get out of her hiding place. "Combeferre, before you ask, there is a perfectly  _innocent_  explanation for this," she said by way of greeting. She raised an eyebrow when she took in the sight of her neighbor's rather gaunt, unshaven face. Even his spectacles could not hide the circles under his eyes. "What happened?" she asked.

Combeferre rubbed his temples. "I was hoping one or both of you could tell me. I just got home-there is a story behind that-and I found Paquet waiting downstairs, screaming terrible abuse, or was till Citizenness Leclair threw him out."

"What would he come here for?" Eponine asked, completely confused.

"That would depend on one thing," Combeferre replied. "Where was everyone at exactly midnight?"


	55. Chapter 55: Alibis and Traps

**Chapter 55: Alibis and Traps**

" _Where was everyone at exactly midnight?"_

Enjolras simply raised an eyebrow at this question and crossed his arms. "Why is Citizen Paquet suddenly interested?"

Combeferre shrugged and took off his spectacles to rub his eyes. "He is under the impression that one of us called on Citizen Duchamp last night. You in particular, were supposed to be at the Rue de Berlin. Citizen Paquet wasted so much of his breath on invectives, I'm surprised you two didn't hear him," he said, also directing his perplexed look at Eponine, who was still standing near the doorway.

"Because we were asleep till a few moments ago," Eponine chimed in, running her hands through her slightly tangled hair. "I s'pose that we were both back here by midnight since it did not feel too late in the night for me."

"That stands to reason," Enjolras said, stepping aside so that Eponine could leave the room and see to her brothers. ' _At least that is the best estimate without a watch on hand,'_ he noted, remembering now that he had yet to replace his watch, which had gotten shattered during the time he'd been accosted by Azelma and Gueuelemer.

Combeferre's eyebrows shot up as he heard Eponine close the door to her own room, followed by the sound of her conversing with Gavroche and Neville. "She heard you having another nightmare?" he asked in a discreet undertone.

Enjolras looked up from where he was retrieving a clean set of clothes from his closet. "You know?"

The physician smiled sympathetically. "There's a difference in how you act when you are sleepless voluntarily, and when you are sleepless simply because you are under duress. You've been the latter since the middle of January. Neville mentioned being woken up once by an odd sound in the night; I had to make an intelligent guess." He clapped Enjolras' shoulder on seeing the latter's mortified expression. "It is a surprisingly common occurrence; there is no actual medicine yet against a tempest in the brain except perhaps time."

"Which is a luxury for many," Enjolras remarked before closing the door so he could finish dressing up and readying for the day. ' _It's too true for today,'_ he thought a little ruefully as he went downstairs and accompanied Combeferre to the small bakery near the street corner in order to find some bread and perhaps a little cheese or something else for breakfast. It was clear now that dealing with this mystery regarding Paquet's interest in everyone's whereabouts would take up what little spare time there was to be had for this morning.

"How were matters at Picpus?" he asked Combeferre as they reached the bakery.

"An idyll except for one thing," Combeferre replied. "I happened to speak with Citizen Bayard, and it seems that even  _before_  that meeting, he has already set his judgement against me in today's screening."

"For what reason?"

"That is the troubling part; he said that it had to do with me and Claudine interfering in some business of his. It is implausible of course, since outside of my being his student and only for half a year at that, I have hardly crossed paths with him. Claudine only knows him by face."

"It is likely to be a misunderstanding. Hopefully a trivial one," Enjolras remarked a little worriedly, remembering the rumor that Cosette had warned him about.

"Such as the one which I am sure is going around concerning that Citizen Duchamp and his jewellery exhibition," Combeferre said. He looked about to ensure there were no overly curious ears in the vicinity of the bakery and then shook his head. "I'll explain it when we get back to the house. I am sure  _she_  knows something about it too."

Enjolras nodded, knowing very well that Combeferre was referring to Eponine. ' _She probably intended to tell me of it last night,'_ he thought, even as he made sure to get some extra pieces of brioche in addition to the usual loaves for breakfast.

When the two young men returned to the tenement, they found Gavroche searching one of the front room cabinets. "What are you looking for?" Enjolras asked.

"A hammer. Bahorel says he needs to free Prometheus," Gavroche said, finally bringing out the necessary tool.

Combeferre rubbed his temples as he saw Bahorel emerging from the kitchen carrying a chisel. "Is this about what I think it is?" he asked.

"Prouvaire's play? Something about it," Bahorel replied sheepishly as Gavroche handed the hammer over. "He is chained up at the Luxembourg, hence the need for the tools."

"Chained up?" Enjolras repeated incredulously. "Exactly in  _what_  context?"

"He went there to see if the effect of a sunrise could be reproduced for a scene he had in mind but unfortunately some of our comrades thought that it would be more apt to actually _rehearse_  in public. Unfortunately they forgot the key to the lock," Bahorel replied, failing to keep a straight face. "I happened to be walking past, someone told me of the trouble and I headed here."

Enjolras sighed deeply at this explanation, more so when he heard Eponine's laughter from the kitchen and noticed Gavroche's wide grin. "I will be waiting for the explanation for this," he said firmly.

"You'll get it. I'll be able to tempt him here with breakfast. My thanks to your concierge for the tools," Bahorel said with a bow before heading to the front door.

Gavroche made as if to follow Bahorel but Enjolras stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. "Did your sister say you could go?" Enjolras asked.

The boy grinned and thumbed his nose at him. "Bahorel told Eponine that it wouldn't take long," he said before quickly quitting the house, slamming the door.

Enjolras shook his head before going into the kitchen, where Eponine had just set some coffee on the stove, alongside a pot of eggs. Much to his relief, Eponine was already fully dressed; this morning she had picked out the fancy maroon gown she liked to wear on special occasions. She had yet to pin her hair up; for now she had combed it out so it would fall neatly almost to her shoulder blades.

"Gavroche went off with Bahorel. He might miss his breakfast," he said a little pointedly to her as he set down the bread and the cheese on the table.

"He will have to eat while he's walking to school," Eponine deadpanned as she took a seat. Her eyes widened when she noticed the bread. "What did you get so many brioches for?"

"You can bring one later. I understand you are pressed for time today," Enjolras replied. "The boys can have some too, if they want."

Eponine smiled gratefully as she took one of the brioches before nodding to Combeferre, who was just pulling up a chair. "I s'pose you'd want to know what happened last night. It's a long story though with me, so I s'pose you should tell yours first," she said to both men.

Enjolras put his hands on the table. "I went with Bossuet to Citizen Blanchard's house. I stayed there only an hour. Then I went back here to finish preparing for today." He wondered perhaps if that had been the wisest move, considering that there was apparently a great deal he had missed by choosing to stay home. ' _You needed to rest though,'_ he reminded himself, more so when he briefly met Eponine's gaze, all too aware of the half smile playing across her lips. While part of him was definitely railing against the fact that they had shared his bed, albeit in a more or less chaste context, all the same he could not deny that she had helped him get more sleep than he had in a number of weeks.

Combeferre sighed deeply. "Claudine and I were at Picpus from four in the afternoon onwards. She did not want to leave her father alone in the evening. Sometime after nine, Citizen Bayard visited. I do not know how he knew that I was there. He demanded that I clarify one of two impressions: that I had either been seeking some favour with the other members of the panel, or that Claudine had been doing the same, but only with the legislature."

Eponine laughed, but this time it sounded bitterer. "Which one of those has to do with Citizen Duchamp's show?"

"Both."

"I was afraid so. Where were you at midnight?"

"Reading some publications. I do not think I got to sleep till a long time after. I had to force Claudine to stop reading too much before she got a headache," Combeferre said, rubbing his eyes again. "Now what about you, Eponine?"

The young woman took a deep breath before launching into an explanation of what had happened at the Rue de la Verrerie and then at the Rue de Berlin. "I s'pose that means that unless Grantaire and Nicholine couldn't sleep too, they were at home at the Rue de Gres during midnight, much the same way I was back here at the Rue Jean Jacques Rousseau at that time too," she finished.

"We have to clarify that," Enjolras remarked. "The rest of the matter is troubling. It seems as if Citizen Duchamp has been throwing lures and ruses, all of it surrounding his wares."

"Enjolras, I know what you're thinking," Combeferre said, holding up a hand. "Bahorel was right to suggest that we all keep our distance from Citizen Duchamp's work. You, of all people should not get involved in this web."

"I don't like that he's put your name into this," Eponine chimed in. She sighed at the sceptical look he gave her. "Don't be stubborn. I know he doesn't mean well."

"We still have to find out what he is up to. We do not know enough of his motives so that we can categorically disavow and contradict his machinations," Enjolras pointed out. "The way he is doing it seems as if he is out to divide and test everyone, and latch on to the best ally-perhaps the one he can actually do business with."

"Certainly not with you," Eponine muttered.

"Why would that matter?" Combeferre asked as he began to divide the loaves into equal portions for all of the occupants of the house.

"He needs someone to protect him," Eponine suggested, getting up to take the coffee off the stove. "I used to see it; the inspectors would pretend they hadn't seen some of us running even if they knew we had already something in hand."

"That is a plan, but not exactly the reason," Enjolras said. He looked to where Bahorel was helping a rather scruffy Prouvaire into the kitchen. Gavroche and the other Thenardier boys were trailing behind them, with their cat bringing up the rear of this odd procession. "Right on time."

Eponine looked at Prouvaire. "Where is my sister?"

"Still asleep," Prouvaire replied, dusting off his bedraggled coat. "She wasn't involved in this."

"That's good. You all go on and talk, I'll just see to the boys for a moment," Eponine said, getting up from her seat. She brushed her hand through Enjolras' hair as she walked past his chair. "They shouldn't hear this," she said to him in an undertone before picking up some pieces of bread and cheese, and then taking some eggs out of the pot.

"That would be for the best," Enjolras agreed, even as he set Eponine's cup of coffee aside so that it wouldn't be knocked over by their friends.

Jacques frowned in protest. "Why can't we have breakfast with you?"

"We have to talk about some important things," Eponine cut in, trying to usher him out of the room.

"You do that all the time," Jacques protested, this time looking directly at Enjolras.

"Jacques, go with your sister," the young man replied sternly.

"We'll be back for dinner today. Maybe late, but we'll be there," Eponine said to reassure her brother. "I have to also talk to you about something you have to do for today," she added, directing this last comment to Gavroche.

"I'd rather sit in an Assembly," Gavroche groused but he still followed his sister out of the kitchen, half dragging Neville with him.

In the meantime Enjolras pulled up chairs for Bahorel and Prouvaire. He waited for Eponine to bring her brothers out of the room before looking to his friends. "We were just discussing some matters regarding Citizen Duchamp. Eponine already explained what happened at the show in the Rue de Berlin," he explained to the newcomers.

"I was thinking he designed that exhibition more as a way to observe the crowd as opposed to being able to sell anything. A perfect vantage point," Bahorel said.

"It was good of you to suggest a retreat from the matter," Enjolras commended him.

Bahorel smiled. "In the meantime, we figured that Duchamp is indeed carrying out negotiations."

Prouvaire cleared his throat as he picked some dirt off his lapel. "I wouldn't have noticed if I hadn't stayed so still. It was very early; couldn't have been later than three or four in the morning."

"Gavroche mentioned Prometheus; I gather your play has to do with the subject matter?" Enjolras asked him dryly.

"Yes; to be exact a retelling of his unchaining," Prouvaire said. "I had thought that setting the scene at dawn; yes Combeferre I know it is taking liberties, would be apt."

"How long were you chained up?" Combeferre asked worriedly, putting down his own cup of coffee. "You were lucky not to catch your death in this weather and that Bahorel saw you."

"Before the rest of the police could; he was quite in a less than decent state," Bahorel muttered.

The poet shrugged. "Long enough to see Citizen Duchamp in a rich cabriolet, discussing with that doctor...Citizen Bayard?"

Combeferre's eyes grew dark with worry and even a trace of fear. "Who knows what about?"

"Perhaps it has nothing to do with today?" Prouvaire asked concernedly.

"I can hope so," Combeferre said grimly.

"It will come out right," Enjolras said confidently. "He is a reasonable man."

Combeferre smiled and shrugged. "Enjolras and I have different impression of the matter," he said to the other men before going on to explain his side of the evening, concluding with Paquet's query.

Prouvaire swallowed a bite of bread. "Visiting Borel. We were there for a while,"

Bahorel grinned widely. "As for me, the answer would be with Therese, right between her-"

"I think we get the picture now, Bahorel," Enjolras interrupted, hoping to the high heavens that the Thenardier boys didn't overhear this, especially since Bahorel maintained the same volume of voice whether he was indoors or outdoors. However he was sure that Eponine picked up on this comment, judging by the mischievous smirk on her face when she rejoined the group.

"I told Gavroche that he would have to take charge of Neville and Jacques today after their classes," she said as she picked up her cup of coffee. "I think he can do it. It's only for a day."

"Ah because you're going to the session today?" Prouvaire yawned.

"Yes. Leonor will be there, I am sure. I don't know if Musichetta will, since she's had a bit to deal with," Eponine said.

"Claudine will be there. I'll make sure of it," Combeferre reassured her. "Three o'clock at the Hotel de Ville, am I correct?"

"Before that," Eponine said. She quickly wolfed down a piece of bread followed by some cheese. "We need to find seats in the gallery," she added, noticing Enjolras' perplexed look.

"The doors won't open even till just before three," Enjolras said.

"I s'pose we'll line up outside then."

"Intrepid," Bahorel remarked with a grin. "Now with regard to Paquet's question again, it would be safe to presume that Courfeyrac, Paulette, and Leonor were on the opposite bank of the Seine at midnight. What about Musichetta, Joly, and Bossuet?"

"Bossuet might have stayed the entire night at the Blanchards, at the Marais," Enjolras said.

"I doubt that Joly and Musichetta would be up to anything either," Eponine observed before drinking down the rest of her coffee quickly, only to end up coughing and grimacing as she wiped her mouth. "I forgot to put any sugar."

"I heard about the problem with Joly and Musichetta; Leonor mentioned it," Prouvaire said. "Can they really resort to drawing up those kinds of legal papers?"

"Technically yes, but their problem will be dealing with the Magnons if they decide to contradict the paper," Enjolras replied.

Bahorel winced. "He'll probably be questioned today, or tomorrow. That is another matter we should distance ourselves from. He's murderous, as close as he is to our personal affairs. He will be the object of curiosity at the Surete today."

Enjolras nodded, aware of Eponine and Combeferre watching him warily. "As long as he does not give us any further cause to interfere," he said before taking a last bite of bread. After a few minutes everyone quit the breakfast table; Bahorel and Prouvaire returned to their respective residences while everyone else went to ready for the day's work.

Just when Enjolras was leaving his room, carrying his usual satchel of papers, he saw Eponine waiting for him in the hall. "It shouldn't be my turn to worry about you today," she said to him bluntly.

"We have to figure out what is happening. We spent weeks running from Magnon, and I do not want the same to happen about Citizen Duchamp," he argued.

"Yes, but Magnon is one thing. He is just out to be awful; I have seen his sort. The jeweller is another problem. I could see why he'd like to think I'm a silly, but I won't have him doing the same with you or the others. He's simply not the sort you talk to. Now that Citizen Paquet is involved, you have danger on two counts," she pointed out.

"It is for that same reason I want to get to the bottom of this matter before anyone else gets entangled." Enjolras stepped closer to her when he saw her bite her lip in the same anxious fashion he'd observed the night before when she'd stayed with him. He placed a finger under her chin and lifted it so that she would have to look right at him. "I will not negotiate with him, or even deal with him. Outside of being civil, but that is the furthest extent of it."

"He already thinks you will talk business with him. Some people might already be angry with you for it."

"Then I have to disabuse them of that notion."

She nodded seriously as she took his hand, pressing her fingers gently over the calluses there. "Then they have no choice but to believe you. That is your only chance."

"One not to be wasted, I assure you," he said, eliciting a slight smile from her. "Are you ready for the session later?" he asked after a few moments.

A brighter smile tugged at her lips. "I did my best. You?"

"Much the same."

Eponine's eyes brightened with a mischievous look before she stepped closer and kissed him fiercely, enough to leave them both flushed and breathless when she pulled away. "It will be more than enough," she said hotly against his lips.

"Eponine..." he whispered, realizing now that one of his hands was at the back of her neck, and the other was at her waist. He felt his face grow hot at this, much the same way as he was sure it did when he'd woken up with her still in his arms and more interestingly, the other way around. ' _I should not think of her in that way,'_ he reminded himself as he let go of her. "What was that for?" he asked once he caught his breath.

"To wish you well," she laughed, casually straightening out his collar. "I'll see you at the Hotel de Ville."

"At three," he reminded her, taking her hand as they went downstairs to where Combeferre was helping the youngsters divide up the brioches and leftover cheese for their lunch.

Their group parted ways at the street corner: Combeferre was headed to the medical school, Eponine would accompany her brothers to the schoolhouse before heading to the Rue des Macons, while Enjolras made his way to the neighbourhood of the Invalides, in hopes of finding Coutard, who'd set up office with some fellow journalists in the area. ' _It has been some years, but perhaps Coutard would remember something of the jewelry trade,'_ he thought. While part of Eponine's story had included Grantaire's insights regarding the infamous ruby necklace, Enjolras was sure that a little additional detail regarding the trade would be quite useful, especially coming from a friend whose family had made a living in the trade of precious and semiprecious stones.

When he arrived, he found Coutard in the middle of finishing up an interview, so he had to wait for a few minutes outside Coutard's small office. When Enjolras finally stepped in, he found the ginger-haired journalist shaking his head. "I was just explaining to my client that there was no way you could have been at the Rue de Berlin last night," Coutard said. "Even if everyone of consequence was there."

"Consequence is relative."

"The public eye. I exempt you since you showed no interest in those matters. Not in Aix, and certainly not here."

Enjolras managed a smile as he took a seat. "You are in the right of that. Unfortunately the matter concerns the Rue de Berlin, at least tangentially. It seems as if Citizen Duchamp has a particular piece, a necklace of rubies, which was not on exhibition last night. It has become a disturbing object of curiosity for some friends."

Coutard whistled. "The one that has been nicknamed already as Madame Guillotine's Collar?"

Enjolras' eyes narrowed at this gruesome reference. "Already?"

The journalist nodded, and continued in Occitan. "It's quite the masterpiece. You have probably heard that the centrepiece at least comes from far away. Now I haven't had the chance to examine it personally but if it is true that the necklace is mostly crystal and tortoiseshell, then the real wealth of it is in the ruby in the middle."

"The stone has supposedly changed hands multiple times, and using less than honourable means."

Coutard rested his chin on his fist. "The actual value of the ruby there is that it has not been treated with heat to improve its color and remove some of the inclusions found in a raw gem. The hue it has is a perfect 'pigeon's blood', as what the jewellers would say, but there are imperfections in the stone that can attest to its purity. Also, the ruby has a star-like quality that would have been better shown off had it been cut as a cabochon as opposed to a faceted form, but its present state is flattering enough."

Enjolras nodded slowly. "Is all of that enough to raise its value astronomically?"

"People have killed for less," Coutard said. "Even if some people rate rubies less than diamonds, the craftsmanship of the stone and the rest of the piece adds enough value to command a high price. Then there also is the fact that Citizen Duchamp has paid a high price to get the stone into France...assuming he got it legitimately."

"This is under the assumption that clandestine means cost far more but expedite the passage?"

"Among several, far less benign theories."

"I see," Enjolras said, knowing now that he and his friend had strayed into territory that was more apt for the Surete's investigation. "Would you know who Citizen Duchamp has offered the piece to?"

Before Coutard could answer, he happened to look towards the office door and he paled visibly before cursing vehemently in Occitan. "Speak of the devil!"

Enjolras turned around and just managed to keep a straight face when he saw who had entered the room. "Good morning Citizen Paquet," he greeted calmly.

Paquet was livid at this cordial greeting. "I called at your house this morning."

"At an unexpected hour," Enjolras replied.

"Your concierge threw me out," Paquet sneered. "How much did you pay her to do so?"

"I was informed  _after_  the fact. What was your business at my residence?" the legislator asked firmly.

"I have it on good authority that you are intent on granting that scoundrel Citizen Duchamp some unnecessary favors for his business," Paquet snapped. "You have not even warmed your seat in the Hotel de Ville's assembly, and you're already disgracing the party."

"I have never been acquainted with Citizen Duchamp, nor am I privy to the full particulars of his business. Therefore I am not inclined to enter such an agreement with him."

"Weren't you negotiating with him at midnight? Either you or one of your friends?"

' _What if it was Citizen Bayard who was negotiating?'_ Enjolras thought but he dismissed the thought; he had no proof that it was this senior physician who met the jeweller. Instead he said, "I can also ascertain that my friends and I were not negotiating with him; those who were at the Rue de Berlin were away from there before eleven in the evening. The others all had business elsewhere."

Paquet laughed disdainfully. "How can you be so certain about that? I know the stories; Combeferre seeking his post at the university; of course he will need that extra push there. Also there is the fact that you two have quite failed in keeping your women under control."

"You are straying from our discussion, Citizen. I have answered your query; if you are not satisfied then I am sure you can find persons who can corroborate what I have just said, particularly with regard to those who were at the Rue de Berlin," Enjolras replied.

"You were not with them?"

"I was home, and preparing for this afternoon's session."

"Who can vouch for that?" Paquet challenged.

"My concierge," Enjolras replied coolly.

"Clever that you should mention her and not Citizenness Thenardier," Paquet mocked. "Did you send her to the show to negotiate on your behalf?"

"No. As I said, I have no intention of dealing with Citizen Duchamp," the young man said curtly. "Have you concluded your business?"

"Since you are dismissive. I will warn you; this will cost you much of your support with the party. You are being an ingrate as early as now."

"Our views are irreconcilable then; the party is not a tie, not an allegiance."

The veins in Paquet's temples were throbbing as he glared at Enjolras. He shoved a chair aside before turning his gaze to Coutard. "I had something of interest for you, but I will have to call some other day. Good day," he said vehemently before stalking out of the office.

Coutard muttered something in Occitan as he shook his head. "For all his craftiness, he hasn't thought of negotiating too." He snickered at Enjolras' puzzled look. "Your disinterest is astonishing. He wants to acquire it too; there's a lady who has caught his eye, a widow in Chaillot."

"Unfortunately neither of us wished him luck," Enjolras said dryly. "Thank you for your help, my friend."

"Anytime," Coutard replied amiably. "By the way, how is Leonor doing? With Feuilly so far away, she must be rather despondent."

"She's busy with organizing a women's group," Enjolras explained. "I gather she was at a meeting yesterday, in the neighbourhood of Saint Merry."

"The Les Halles group? That is not surprising; they have always been vocal. If the women of the Latin Quartier intend to be allied with them, they might be in over their heads especially if the Les Halles group leans to a less compromising stance, or if the Latin Quartier girls are as argumentative as their counterparts," the journalist observed.

"We shall see," Enjolras said. After some discussion regarding news from the Midi and the impending session, he took his leave and headed now for the Hotel de Ville. The place was busy with journalists, hangers-on and a few aides; apparently Lafayette had just arrived as well as some legislators visiting from nearby towns. Much to Enjolras' surprise, Grantaire was in this hullaballoo; the former drunkard was in the middle of a discussion with a group of engineers. He nodded to his friend before hurrying upstairs to a small corner room that had been designated as his office.

Enjolras carefully shut the door behind him and surveyed this space, which was even smaller than his own lodgings at the Latin Quartier. He had spent some time over the past few weeks acquiring the bare necessities for his work: a desk, a chair he could stand to spend hours in, another chair for visitors, and bookshelves. The only concession to warmth was a small stove he'd brought over only as an afterthought, mainly on his friends' insistence that he do something to preserve his health. ' _Other people live and work with worse conditions,'_ he reminded himself as he set about emptying his satchel and laying out what food he had saved for his lunch, as well as the papers he would need for later. That afternoon he would present before the plenary session the proposed reforms to the present penal code. He could only imagine how this would be received; from what he knew public opinion was still sharply divided on this matter. In preparation for this he reviewed once again the documents he had been working on the night before, making sure that each turn of phrase would not be misconstrued.

As he was reading the last pages, a few raps sounded on the door. Enjolras paused at this sound; none of his friends knew the  _exact_  location of his workplace, and none of them had reason to be up here, for the time being. "Who is there?" he called.

"A friend," an unfamiliar voice replied as the door opened to reveal a sturdily built man with long hair that had recently seen the work of curling tongs. He was dressed in a tight tailcoat and breeches. Accompanying him was a man in a simpler suit of livery, clearly a servant. This second man carried what appeared to be a large case.

Enjolras got to his feet. "Good day Citizen. How may I call you?" he asked cordially.

"I am surprised you do not know me, Citizen Enjolras. I am called Citizen Duchamp," the visitor said with a deep bow.

"We have not been formally introduced till this instance," Enjolras answered, deliberately keeping any wariness or mistrust out of his tone. "Your companion is?"

"My manservant."

"Who bears the name of?"

"Bellanger," the jeweller answered a little impatiently. "I have an offer to make for you, Citizen, an object of interest to be exact. I would have spoken with you about it at the Rue de Berlin last night; you were among the few luminaries not present." He motioned for Bellanger to put the case on the desk. "I am sure that this particular piece has been brought to your notice already," he said, pulling the velvet cover off the case.

Enjolras' eyes narrowed even as he cast a cursory gaze on the necklace that Duchamp had brought. It was indeed as how Eponine, Coutard, and their friends had described it; pure crimson mingled with gold. He could not see the imperfections that were surely present in the ruby centrepiece, but the gem still cast a glow that was both ominous and almost seductive. "I am not interested in it," he said firmly.

"Yes, but I know who is," Duchamp replied. "That sweet girl, Citizenness Thenardier the elder. Eponine, isn't it? Oh of course she is the paragon of Republican modesty; she will not dare to tell you about it for fear of taxing your resources." He smiled on seeing that Enjolras remained silent. "Might I say it would make a lovely present, perhaps for a wedding?"

"An unseemly and inappropriate present," Enjolras retorted. "What interests me though is your sudden exertion of effort to seek me out especially in this location. This is irregular and clandestine, as you have a shop of your own, and your clientele knows where to seek you out. Therefore I must infer that you are here to negotiate or make some sort of offer with regard to policies or some matter of state." He looked Duchamp in the face, not averting his gaze when he saw that the jeweller had paled. "Then my deduction is correct."

"You are astute too. I see why you and Citizenness Thenardier are quite the pair," Duchamp finally said after a moment.

"You have yet to clarify your actual business here."

"Merely to make a useful alliance."

Enjolras raised an eyebrow. "Then there are more appropriate venues for making ties. Not here."

Duchamp motioned for his servant to cover the case. "Then if not as a statesman, then at least as a potential client?"

"Again, no."

"Not even for her? Wouldn't it be-"

"Citizen Duchamp, I would advise that we cease this discussion. I am more than aware that she has refused to purchase the necklace on at least two occasions. You will find few opinions more difficult to sway," Enjolras cut in. He gestured to the door. "You should depart."

The jeweller nodded slowly, all the while muttering something under his breath about incorruptible entities. Enjolras made sure to close the door tightly and wait for the man's footsteps to fade before he returned to his desk. He continued working till some time past two in the afternoon, when he remembered that he had yet to bring any of the food he'd brought, and that it was likely that people were already queuing to get into the Hotel de Ville. ' _The gallery will most likely be one for standing only,'_ he thought as he quickly ate his lunch and then headed downstairs to the session hall.

Even with all his previous estimates in mind, he found himself pleasantly surprised by the throng that filled up the large corridor leading to the session hall. It was a sea of people; fastidiously dressed businessmen jostled past artisans and factory workers in smocks, fishwives with their tresses hidden by plain caps harangued ladies of fashion who were trying desperately to preserve their elegant attire from being crushed. A few boys, some of them former gamins, dashed about carrying messages. There was no particularly strict code as to what was 'acceptable' in this first session; men wore cockades of the various parties, some women had pinned ribbons of puce, or of tricolor stripes to their caps or to their sleeves, and powdered wigs upset the carefully coiffed or capped heads of the younger onlookers.

Enjolras had to do his best to stay away from the wall; those who found themselves pressed up there were in danger of being smothered. People were hailing him, but this was no time for conversation; even Courfeyrac only received a nod of acknowledgment from him. He thought he saw Bossuet in this crush too; his friend was accompanying Marthe, none other than Blanchard's haughty niece. As Enjolras neared the door of the session hall he heard a burst of quick, animated conversation to his right. He turned to see a group of women debating with each other; had he been any further all he would have noticed of them were their gestures and slightly raised voices. Some of these ladies were from Les Halles; the formidable  _poissarde_ Citizenness Legendre was in this circle. Others were vaguely familiar faces from the Latin Quartier; associates of his colleagues or allied with some of the political parties. Claudine was there too, her manner far more calm and sober as she explained a point to a younger grisette. Eponine was in the middle of the argument, her manner lively as she traded barbs with one of Citizenness Legendre's friends.

Enjolras was not sure how it was possible, but it was evident even to him that Eponine had acquired even more elegance in the seven or so hours since they'd last talked. Her hair was swept back from her face but not pinned back tightly as was her usual manner; some of her hair had been curled into ringlets that fell becomingly around her face. She was still in her maroon dress but she had added a dainty lace collar to the ensemble. However the rosiness in her cheeks was not the product of any artifice, unlike her more rouged and made up companions. Any amazed remark Enjolras might have made would have to be for later; this crowd was impossible. He did dare though to look her way directly, just long enough for her to give him a questioning look and for him to return a slightly conspiratorial smile of approval. He did not look back though to see if she had blushed.

This unspoken exchange had not gone entirely unnoticed though; when Enjolras found his colleague Rossi, his friend was trying his best to hide his laughter. "I worry about that gallery of harpies, but I see you have convinced your muse to come," Rossi remarked.

"Convinced? More of having the right to it," Enjolras said.

"I shouldn't want to be in your position tonight," Rossi sighed. "Rumor has it there is much to discuss in the session; after Lafayette's speech it will become quite the debate."

"How so?" Enjolras asked but before Rossi could answer, a shout came from the end of the corridor. The session hall doors had finally been opened.


	56. Chapter 56

_A/N: The legislative process detailed here is not based solely on one system alone._

**Chapter 56: The Art of Learning Respectability**

The first thing that Eponine noticed about the session hall at the Hotel de Ville that this was  _not_  exactly a room originally fitted out for this sort of affair. The hall was far too narrow, making it seem more like a tunnel than anything else. A platform with two podiums had been constructed at one end of this room, while the actual floor was divided into three areas, clearly designated for the three political parties, hailing from Paris as well as from nearby towns. A row was designated for the heads and members of various executive committees and departments. The galleries on the periphery of the room were rather tight, accessible only by cramped stairwells that did no favors for the voluminous skirts of some of the women attending the assembly. "We'll all get our petticoats and our sleeves torn at this rate!" she heard one of her companions complain as they squeezed their way into one of the galleries to the right of the hall.

"It's like being at the theater; you can't be too fancy if you want to take a look," Eponine remarked, managing to find a place to stand near the gallery's railing. Despite the fact that she knew it would spoil the lines of her dress, she pushed her sleeves up as far as she could for comfort's sake. Although it was only March, the entire gallery felt hot and stifling, and the smells of sweat and perfumes were making it even more difficult to breathe. ' _I only hope that none of us are too tightly laced; we can't get a fainting person down the stairs,'_ she thought, noticing how some of the ladies were fanning themselves rather feverishly.

She felt someone tap her shoulder and she turned to see one of the younger girls, a lace maker hailing from Livry. She was a pert character with a deep dimple in her left cheek. "Can you see well from there?" the other girl asked.

"Well enough so they aren't shadows," Eponine replied. "If you lean a little this way, Simone, you might get a better view too."

Simone sighed as she stood on tiptoe, to no avail. "I don't know much of the other people down there except for Lafayette of course. Could you tell me who the rest are?"

"I s'pose I could try," Eponine replied. Although their vantage point gave them a distinct advantage, it was still difficult to keep track of everyone milling about the assembly floor. "Who do you see?"

Simone tugged nervously at her pelisse. "Who's that gentleman standing to the side, with a red cockade? He looks worried."

Eponine bit her lip at the sight of this familiar face. "Citizen Paquet. He's the head of the _Radicaux_  party," she replied. ' _I still would like to know why he called at such a horrible hour today,'_ she thought, frowning slightly. "He didn't win, so he's off with some of those committee officials, that entire group down there. They're here today because I think they'll be receiving the laws that they ought to review."

Simone gave her a worried look. "You're from the  _Radicaux_  too, but you do not like him?"

"Not very much; he has been very disagreeable to me and my friends."

"Oh. Now who is that pale fellow with gray hair, talking to Lafayette there?"

It took Eponine a moment to locate the man that Simone had pointed out near the point of the room. "Citizen Mathieu. He's the representative from Chaillot," she finally said, remembering having seen him during the Lafontaines' soiree. "I don't know much about him, unfortunately."

"That thin gentleman in a cap, standing to the left is Charles Jeanne? He has a red cockade too."

"Yes. Who doesn't know Citizen Jeanne?"

Simone's smile was one of admiration. "Who are those two handsome young men there? One is from the  _Constitutionalists_  party; he's in blue. The other, I do not know but I like that brown hair of his."

Eponine had to hold back a laugh. "The one in blue is Citizen Rossi. He's a polytechnician."

"You know him too?"

"He's a friend even if he's from a different party and he comes all the way from Montmartre. I s'pose it's a little funny to think of it but it doesn't matter  _too_  much to some people. The other, that one whose hair you like, is Citizen Bamatabois. He's with the  _Democrates_ party, and he's the one from the Marais. He was a lawyer before that, and is also a bit of a friend too."

"How did you ever meet them?" Simone asked.

"Friends of friends, and the campaign of course," Eponine said. "Sometimes we have to all work together to get things done. It's much easier that way, instead of fighting all the time."

Simone nodded slowly before standing up ramrod straight even as her round cheeks turned a bright shade of red. "Who's that one with golden hair? He looks like some sort of Greek statue. I saw him in the hallway earlier."

' _He saw me too,'_ Eponine thought even as she knew that she was smiling too widely for her to hide behind her hand. "That is Citizen Enjolras. He's from the Latin Quartier. I know him well."

"Know him! Is that all?" another woman scoffed from nearby.

Simone's eyes widened with comprehension at this remark. "He's your sweetheart or your fiancé?" she asked Eponine cautiously.

"Neither," Eponine replied, only to realize after a few moments that some of her companions were giving her aghast and scandalized looks. ' _Did I say something wrong again?'_ she wondered, feeling her face grow hot again.

Claudine shifted in her seat a few paces away. "They are respectable. What Citizenness Thenardier means is that Citizen Enjolras is far too  _proper_  to be like those sweethearts in romances, but he hasn't proposed marriage either," she said loudly.

Eponine smiled at her friend gratefully, more so when some of the women nodded and turned their attention towards the other goings on in the hall. By this time Leonor had also arrived, managing to squeeze in near one of the pillars in the gallery. The place was packed now; there was hardly any room for anyone to enter even the furthest galleries. Some people had brought seats; these were mostly the more affluent onlookers; men clad in the latest fashion of tailcoat and women who certainly had the time and perhaps the help of a maid to put their hair in Apollo knots and masses of curls. ' _Some of those knots are hair rats though,'_ Eponine mused, remembering one of Therese's jokes about the necessity of saving one's hair for future fashion debacles.

She noticed also that the three youngest legislators were deep in conversation; Bamatabois was gesticulating agitatedly in contrast to Enjolras' calmer but nonetheless stern manner. Rossi was silent but he held himself stiffly and his pallid face was in dire contrast to his raven hair. Eponine edged closer to the railing, hoping to guess what was occupying them. ' _He's not going to look this way now,'_ she reminded herself; Enjolras was far too focused to be distracted by the sight of a woman watching him intently from the gallery, even if that woman was her.

A murmur followed by applause rippled through the galleries as Lafayette took his place at one of the podiums to deliver the session's opening address. Even at his age, the general's voice still carried clearly through the crowded session room, effectively silencing the few hecklers in the galleries but certainly not all commentary. "He's just as much a vulture as these bourgeois," Citizenness Legendre muttered. "He did not fire a single shot at the barricades save to defend himself, and now he's the head. If you ask me, the leaders should have decided among themselves."

"If it weren't for him, the shooting would have continued in the streets," Leonor argued. "I don't like him, but I don't like people dead either."

"Yes but he's still in the wrong place," the fishwife said, her scowl deepening. "He would have given France to another Duc D'Orleans if someone like that had been around. It's a good thing that the  _émigrés_  had enough sense to clear out."

"They're still being looked for in England," Simone chimed in.

Eponine saw Leonor's face pale with worry. ' _How long till Feuilly's next letter?'_ the younger grisette wondered before forcing herself to pay attention to Lafayette as he spoke of the triumphs of the present Constitution, and then of the recently concluded elections. She noticed that even at this point some people in the other galleries were nodding off; a corpulent man had even gone as far as to doze off and fall against the bodice of a lady who'd been conversing with her neighbor. The indignant woman let out a short screech before proceeding to harangue and then pinch the offender, and was about to slap him before an onlooker intervened by pulling the dozing man back to a sitting position. As brief as this altercation was, it was enough to produce giggles from the onlookers as well as a momentary pause in Lafayette's discourse. Eponine bit back her laughter at this scene, but as she looked back towards the podium she also realized that she was being watched. She froze at the sight of Duchamp seated in the gallery opposite hers. The jeweller was watching the proceedings from behind gold-rimmed spectacles that served to give him a dignified air. ' _What is he here for?'_ Eponine wondered, surveying him out of the corner of her eye as she listened to the remainder of Lafayette's speech. She saw him get up and depart with a companion, their seats being carried by two menservants, just as the entire assembly broke into applause at the conclusion of the general's address.

"How many laws and petitions will be raised in the meeting?" Simone asked Eponine as the applause finally died down.

"At least six, that's already counting ours. I'm sure there are so many more. One of the legislators is going to have to read them all out and present them to the committee."

"After they are all presented in this session, what happens next?" Simone whispered.

Eponine paused, trying to remember the entire process as it had been explained to her once over breakfast. "After this, the papers will get passed to local committees. Then the committees get to discuss and revise it before it goes back to the big session  _and_  is given to the sessions in other assemblies. Then all the legislators vote in their assemblies, and if it passes those, then someone like Lafayette has to sign it so it becomes a law," she said after a while.

Simone rubbed her nose. "So if the committees don't like it, or the legislators don't like it, it won't become a law."

"I s'pose it's that way," Eponine said before falling silent on seeing Claudine signal to her; it seemed as if it had fallen to Lafayette to do this initial reading of petitions, both from Paris and from the nearby legislatures convening in the hall. Fortunately it turned out to be a quick exercise; the name of the petition, the names of the chief authors or petitioners, and a list of the proposal's salient points. Only then would the paper be endorsed to a committee or two for evaluation. Most of these petitions excited no comment until some muttering and a few catcalls came from the galleries when Lafayette read out Rossi's proposal for a new tax scheme.

"Now that's done it; they'll never read our work now, when the crowd is stirring up," Leonor muttered. "All because a legislator didn't write it."

"They  _have_  to read it," Citizenness Legendre said, flexing her knuckles.

"Or what, you'll empty your chamberpot on Jeanne's door?" another woman quipped.

Citizenness Legendre reddened and she muttered something behind her fist even as she watched Lafayette picked up the second to the last petition left on his podium. "A review and amendments regarding changes as to the sentencing and correction of prisoners, with emphasis on the abolition of capital punishment. The principle author of this proposal is Citizen Antoine Enjolras-" he began.

Eponine sat up straight even as she heard the hubbub and some of the outraged exclamations starting up in the crowd as well as on the assembly floor below. ' _I am sure that Enjolras already knew this was going to happen,'_ she told herself, even as she risked a glance at him down at his seat near the front of the hall. She already knew that he would be stern, but now his terrible and yet calm mien was astonishing. It was that of a man anticipating a pitched battle, one wherein victory was the only option.

Lafayette coughed and cleared his throat before picking up the last petition in the stack. "Finally we have here a  _citizennesses' initiative_ , a petition to improve the conditions and compensations for women in occupations outside of the home. This was principally drafted by Citizennesses Claudine Andreas, Eponine Thenardier, Allyce Legendre, and Leonor Torres-" he read out only to have his next words drowned out by cheers and applause mingled with curses and heckling from all around the galleries.

Simone, now completely overwhelmed, clapped her hands over her ears. "Can you even hear what Lafayette is saying?" she shouted to Eponine.

"Hardly anything!" Eponine yelled over the voices of Citizenness Legendre and some of the other women trading insults and threats with their detractors in other galleries, despite all attempts to bring order back to the crowd. A nearly apoplectic Paquet did not even wait for the session to be adjourned; he was already spitting invectives at the legislators and it did not take much to know who his prime target was in this group.

Leonor shook her head as she gripped the pillar she was leaning against. "I heard him endorse it to the livelihood committee. There's nowhere else for it to go."

"We have to leave before it gets ugly," one of the older women in the group whispered fearfully. "When should we meet again?"

"Sunday afternoon at Saint-Merry again," Eponine said quickly. "No one has work then, there's time to figure out what we can do next." It felt odd for her to speak out this way, but somehow she knew that a decision had to be made immediately.

"Then Sunday it is. Do not be late," Citizenness Legendre said brusquely before the group dispersed. Leonor muttered her goodbyes to her friends before running to accompany some of her friends from the Faubourg Saint-Antoine.

In the meantime Eponine and Claudine made their way to the gallery stairway, managing to squeeze past a group of idlers blocking off the passage. At the sight of them though, some of the men burst out laughing and a few even jeered. "Don't listen to them," Claudine advised, gripping Eponine's arm before the latter could retort.

"How do you ever stand it?"

"You learn."

' _I don't have time to,'_ Eponine thought as she and Claudine made their way out into the now crowded hallway. Some of the people there, especially the working women and some of the young men, extended their congratulations. The majority of the more hostile in the throng limited themselves to sneers and glares and the occasional catcall.

Suddenly Claudine paled and grabbed Eponine's shoulder. The younger girl looked around and saw Citizenness Bayard approaching them. The matron's ringlets were a little askew and her brow was knitted with fury. "I was right to not trust the two of you," Citizenness Bayard hissed.

Eponine swiftly stepped between Claudine and the woman accosting them. "I s'pose this is all a misunderstanding. What exactly have we done?"

"First with my lodger, and then with the panel at the medical school, and now with the legislature; I should have seen the last one coming after all," Citizenness Bayard said, spittle flying everywhere with each word. "I will not have you whores bringing my name or my husband's good name into scandal."

"If you're accusing us of negotiations, then you might have already heard that it is completely baseless," Claudine retorted. "Your husband and my friend Citizen Combeferre have already had this discussion."

Citizenness Bayard's eyes flashed as she raised her arm but Eponine caught the woman by her forearm before her hand could strike either her or Claudine. The young woman laughed when she saw that Citizenness Bayard's fingers were covered with heavy diamond rings. "You think those pretty shiners could cut us? I'm not afraid of them. I can still scream you know, and that would have everyone running to see what the matter is."

The matron shook away Eponine's grip. "You've chosen the wrong person to cross."

"So have you."

Claudine tugged Eponine by the back of her collar. "We have to go. My apologies for this; I am deeply sorry," she said, directing the last statement to Citizenness Bayard. She had to half-drag Eponine round a bend in the hallway before letting go of her friend. "Eponine, she's already quite angry enough as it is!" she chided.

"About something no one has gotten to the bottom of, and she was about to hit someone," Eponine argued. She could hear steps from someplace in the hallway but before she could comment on it she felt several hands suddenly grab her and pull her into a small alcove. Before she could scream or fight, she felt a hand on her mouth, forcing her to look right at her captor. "Bossuet?" she gasped when her friend let go of her.

"Have to get you and Claudine out of trouble. Marthe, let go of her," Bossuet said to his companion, who had also managed to pull Claudine into the cabinet. Bossuet moved so that his tall form was the only thing that could be seen from the alcove's entrance. "There are some journalists up the hall; Grantaire's rivals. He's trying to call them off."

"What on earth would they want?" Eponine asked in an incredulous whisper. She finally got a look at the young, pallid woman who was with Bossuet. "So you're Marthe Blanchard. Nice to finally meet you."

Marthe smiled sheepishly as she tucked a strand of dirty blond hair under a dainty lace cap. "You helped save my cousin."

"I thought Citizen Blanchard was your uncle?" Claudine asked.

"He is but he's not all that old, so I say he's my cousin," Marthe explained. She stood on tiptoe to look past Bossuet and she cringed. "I can still hear Grantaire. They're really demanding an interview."

Eponine shut her eyes and after a while was able to focus on the telltale raspy voice of her friend haranguing his careers. "What do they want?"

"To 'question' you and Claudine. Those vultures," Bossuet said. "Grantaire knows them, he tipped us off. He also tipped off Courfeyrac and Coutard; they're probably trying to help Enjolras, Rossi, and maybe Bamatabois and Jeanne leave the building too."

"Leonor was with us..." Eponine trailed off.

"She left; Grantaire saw her with some of the other girls. She'll be fine. We can't find Mathieu though," Bossuet reassured her.

Claudine wriggled to get comfortable in the alcove. "Where do these journalists work?"

"One is from the  _Charivari_ ," Marthe whispered.

"Getting an interview is quite a lot of effort for a satirist," Claudine observed. "If Grantaire says they are bad news, then we ought to take his word for it."

"We can't hide from the bigger ones, like the  _Moniteur,"_ Eponine said. She tried to remember some of the journalists she'd been introduced to during the course of the campaign; how many of them aside from Grantaire and possibly Coutard, could be trusted in these circumstances? ' _Then of course people can talk, no matter what we do or say,'_ she told herself, even as she felt her hands clench into fists.

After a while Grantaire came walking down the hall, whistling casually. "Ahoy Bossuet!"

Bossuet sighed as he let the ladies out of the alcove. "You had me wedged in an awkward place, Capital R. Where did they go?"

"I sent them off to meet Sisyphus, for the time being," Grantaire replied with a grin, motioning for them to follow him down a side passage, till they reached one of the back doors of the Hotel de Ville. This door opened out into a side alley, leading down to the Seine. By now the sun was beginning to set; the hour must have been past five in the afternoon. As quietly as they could they made their way down this narrow path, carefully keeping out of sight of the journalists and carriages still in the vicinity. Grantaire signalled for them to head towards the Place du Chatele before taking his leave to head back to the Latin Quartier.

When Eponine, Claudine, Bossuet, and Marthe arrived at the square, they found Enjolras and Courfeyrac perusing some publications at a shop. "How are you all doing?" Courfeyrac asked immediately as he tossed his paper aside and waved them over.

"Have had better afternoons," Bossuet said. "How were you able to get out of the Hotel de Ville?"

"With difficulty," Enjolras replied wryly as he put down his reading material and nodded cordially to the rest of the group. "Where is Grantaire?"

"Latin Quartier. And Coutard?" Bossuet said.

"He's on his way there as well." Enjolras looked concernedly at the newcomers. "Were you able to avoid all the journalists?"

"Every single one," Eponine said, keeping a straight face at this very business-like question that had Marthe rolling her eyes. "Aside from Grantaire. You though..."

"Had a short interview with one," Enjolras said.

"Short? Enjolras, he hardly got more than a line in edgewise!" Courfeyrac guffawed.

"A wrong question which should not have been dignified," Enjolras answered.

In the meanwhile Claudine was dusting off her wrinkled pelisse. "I hope Combeferre had a good chance at that lecture," she said. "The odds being what they are, I know I shall have to speak with him."

"He's home by now most likely. You should come with us," Eponine suggested. After a few more pleasantries and inquiries, the group parted ways: Courfeyrac to his home, Bossuet and Marthe to the Marais, leaving Eponine, Enjolras, and Claudine to head back to the Rue Jean Jacques Rousseau.

As soon as they arrived at the tenement, Claudine lost no time in heading upstairs to speak to Combeferre. Before Eponine and Enjolras could follow suit, their concierge met them near her lodge. "One of you should have a talk with the little ones," Citizenness Leclair said seriously. "Gavroche got into some sort of fight at school. It was a good thing that Combeferre was here to tend to him."

Eponine's jaw dropped. "A fight? What about?"

"Of course they aren't saying!"

Enjolras shook his head. "Should I deal with them?"

"No, they're my brothers," Eponine replied. "It shouldn't take long...where are they?"

Enjolras smirked for a moment before going towards where a cabinet had been set up near the door leading to the communal washroom. He took a look at the cabinet and then pushed it away from the wall. "Jacques, you can stop hiding there."

"See! I told you it wouldn't work!" Neville shouted from inside the washroom.

Eponine crossed her arms as she saw Jacques crawl out from a hollow behind the cabinet, scowling at both her and Enjolras. "Where's Gavroche?" she asked.

Jacques gave her a guilty look and pointed to the kitchen. Eponine gritted her teeth as she went into the kitchen, which as she expected, was empty. "Gavroche!"

"He's probably on the step..." Neville said in a small voice.

Eponine ran to the back door leading to the alley and opened it, in time to catch Gavroche before he could scamper off. "I s'pose you think you can just run off like that, Gavroche?" she asked sternly, managing to half-drag the boy back into the house.

Gavroche gave her a defiant look, despite the fact that his lip was split and the area around his right eye was completely black. "I've done it before."

"I asked you to just take charge for  _one_  day, and you get into a fight! Can't I trust you anyplace?" Eponine asked furiously. "I'm not going to allow you out to meetings or anything of that sort if you're going to do this!"

"It's the  _mome_ 's fault!" Gavroche shouted, clearly trying to keep his composure even as he gave Jacques a vehement look.

"I don't care whose fault it is, we're not living on the streets anymore where you can do this!"

"He almost got beat up by another boy!"

Eponine looked at Gavroche and then at Jacques, who appeared as if he wanted to hide or seek out Enjolras; unfortunately the young man had already gone upstairs. "What was all that fighting about?" she asked.

Jacques looked down. "Yves said something bad."

"Who's Yves?"

"The boy who sits next to him at school," Gavroche said petulantly. "A soft pear, that's what he is."

"Gavroche!" Eponine chided, pretty sure that her brother had learned this insult from one of her friends.

Neville restlessly scratched his head. "Yves said that Jacques was lying."

"I said you and Papa were smart and you can do anything," Jacques sniffed.

These words had the effect of a thunderclap on Eponine's ears. "Jacques,  _what_  did you say?" she asked, as she crouched to look her brother in the eye. "You've never met Father..."

"Ponine, he's been saying to everyone in his class that you're his maman and that Enjolras is his papa," Gavroche announced.

Eponine shook her head in shock and disbelief. "You know it isn't true! I'm your sister, and Enjolras isn't your father."

Jacques' face scrunched. "Everyone has a maman and a papa, what about me and Neville?"

' _Maybe I really should have let Enjolras deal with this,'_ Eponine thought, biting her lip hard. "It's not exactly the same," she muttered, straightening up. "Gavroche, I don't want you fighting, but thank you for helping Jacques," she said as she hurried to the stairs.

"Where are you going?" Gavroche asked confusedly.

"Upstairs for a little while," Eponine said quickly. Her mind was awhirl even when she reached the top of the stairs. ' _No wonder no one believes it when I say they are my brothers,'_ she thought, letting out a dismayed laugh at the thought of all the pains she had taken to explain this truth, only to have it all summarily undone. She went over to Enjolras' room and found the door ajar. As quietly as she could she let herself in and tiptoed up to where Enjolras was just beginning to read through a thick portfolio.

He looked at her and motioned for her to take the extra chair next to his. "What happened?"

She took a deep breath as she sat next to him and gently pried his hand away from his reading. She smiled at the feel of his long, callused fingers curling around hers. "Gavroche got into a fight trying to protect Jacques. Jacques said that I was his mother and that you were his father."

Enjolras' eyes widened with shock. "Why exactly?" he asked at length.

She shrugged as she inched closer to him, resting her cheek against his shoulder even as she felt him settle an arm around her waist. "I wish I knew. He's been saying that for a while, I s'pose."

"When given a little thought, it doesn't exactly come as a surprise," he pointed out, bringing his hand up to run through her hair. "Even if the  _rumors_  are ridiculous."

She couldn't help snorting at the blasé way he'd said this; she was so sure he was smirking or even smiling. "Especially since we haven't even known each other all that long, and we're supposed to have-" she trailed off, now unable to stop laughing at the absurd idea of Jacques being her son and Enjolras' She had to bury her face in his shirt to muffle her laughter, more so when she realized that he was also chuckling a little. Somehow the closeness, combined with the familiar smell of him, was more than a little comforting. "I'm sorry, Antoine, it's just so silly," she said, pulling away to look him in the face.

"You mean ridiculous," he pointed out. "More so since there are more important matters at hand."

"We'll never be respectable, after today," Eponine quipped. "People angry with you, and then also with me and the other ladies. Our names are going to be in the  _Moniteur_  and heaven knows where else by tomorrow morning."

Enjolras shrugged. "The only way to avoid any opposition is  _not_  doing anything. I am certainly not inclined to it, and I believe you aren't either."

She grinned at him. "You know already."

He nodded as he touched her hand lightly. "Do you want me to talk with Jacques?"

"If you think you should," she said. "How did you guess he was hiding there?"

"I used to put things in that hollow myself," he admitted.

"Before the barricades, I s'pose?" she teased. "I would have expected you to answer that you also hid yourself from time to time."

"I never had siblings to hide from, and by the time I went to school I was too big for it," Enjolras said.

Eponine laughed, already trying to imagine Enjolras in his younger years with Coutard. However the mention of going off to school also brought something to mind; Enjolras wasn't the only person she knew who had been at boarding school. ' _I wonder if Cosette remembers something of being at Picpus,'_ she mused.

"Eponine?" she heard Enjolras ask after a moment. She realized he'd been observing her quizzically, perhaps wondering at her sudden silence.

She smiled and squeezed his hand. "Came up with something of a plan. It might help a little with what Claudine, Leonor, and the rest of us are doing." She glanced upwards quizzically. "How are Claudine and Combeferre doing?"

Enjolras shook his head. "We had better leave them to their own devices. I doubt it went well for Combeferre today."

' _We'll find out soon enough,'_ Eponine thought, already picturing the possible turns that Combeferre's day might have taken. It was something to ponder alongside her own plans and the events of the day, even when she and Enjolras went downstairs to see to supper, or even up until when she and her brothers retired for the night. Although she resolved to stay awake long enough to ensure that Enjolras was peacefully asleep, she found that exhaustion overtook her far more quickly. The next thing she knew it was almost dawn, and she could hear the telltale sounds of breakfast being prepared downstairs. ' _The better to start with less trouble today,'_ she thought, quickly dressing and then rushing to the kitchen.

Enjolras, Combeferre, and Claudine were already there, deep in conversation. "About time," Enjolras remarked when he saw her.

"Did I miss a lot?" Eponine asked, getting the coffee cup that he handed to her.

Claudine shook her head. "Retellings of yesterday." She patted Combeferre's arm. "You don't have to tell it again, Francois."

The physician sighed. "As you probably have guessed, Eponine, it did not go well."

"You were rejected?"

"No, just put on consideration, but it isn't promising."

Eponine winced at this. "Did they ever say why?"

"Age," Claudine and Combeferre said in unison.

"I s'pose it isn't a reason enough," Eponine said before sipping her coffee. "I'm going to the Marais today. Errands. Would you want something done there?"

The men shook their heads while Claudine looked down for a moment. "Tell Cosette about yesterday. She'd want to know."

Eponine nodded; now she had another reason to speak to the Baronne. ' _Since she is the only person who can help me here,'_ she decided. By seven in the morning she left for the Rue des Macons to pick up some papers there, and then soon she was on an omnibus bound for the Marais.

When Eponine arrived at the Rue des Filles du Calvaire, she found Cosette in the sitting room, her smooth brow furrowed as she read through a copy of the  _Moniteur_. She was in a loose fitting white morning dress with a low neckline that was cut to show off her shoulders to their best advantage.

Cosette looked up and smiled half-teasingly when she saw her friend. "I knew, just from the title of the article alone, that you and Enjolras had something to do with it," she greeted amiably, indicating a spot on the paper.

' _Two Controversial Petitions Filed In the First Session,'_ Eponine read aloud. "Not just me and him. Claudine, Leonor, and so many others too. Even the other legislators had their own bit of trouble."

"So what will happen now?"

"The petition is in a committee. All of them are. We have to talk to them too now to make it pass, and correct things they do not like there."

"I wish Marius had let me attend, but I heard it was quite the crowd so perhaps it was best I stayed here," Cosette said, one hand going to the swell of her belly. "Everyone has been busy; it's wonderful really. I just hear of you and Enjolras a lot more from people who come through here."

"What sorts of people?"

"Friends of Grandfather, and Marius' colleagues. Sometimes my own friends too."

Eponine nodded slowly. "That is what I came here to talk with you about. You went to Picpus, to the school there. Most of the girls there were from high and grand families?"

"Most, but not all. I was supposed to be a relative of the gardener," Cosette said with a laugh. "I still see some of my former classmates; many of them are married now."

"Could you tell me how to get on with that sort?" Eponine asked.

"Not with specific people; we're all grown up now and that would be gossiping," Cosette pointed out.

"I know, but that is not what I meant," Eponine said. "I'm not like you or Enjolras, Marius, Courfeyrac, or even Claudine. I go to someplace grand and I end up running afoul of some lady. I need to learn how to stay out of some trouble."

Cosette smiled as she sat up straighter, placing a cushion behind her back for comfort. "Living in a convent is different from life outside; the nuns really bring a climate around with them. Now among us girls, we were plain-spoken. There was no need to really disguise matters since there were no gentlemen to think ill of us. The biggest challenge was dealing with sensibilities."

"Sensibilities?"

"We all came from different circumstances; we couldn't help but bring a little bit of home with us. The girls who were from more outspoken homes tended to congregate together. The quiet ones met up but every now and then, just when needed. Of course there were little jealousies, but it was usually never anything serious, or nothing that a  _culpa_  couldn't cure. We also tended to become friends based on who would eat with who in the refectory. We had our little corners. "

Eponine bit her lip as she mulled over this new sort of division. "What were you then in all of that?"

"I sat in the Cricket corner, and no one bothered with me much. I wasn't particularly boisterous," Cosette said, her smile now one of reminiscence.

"A cricket corner!"

"We called the refectory's corners by different insects: crickets, spiders, wood-louses, and caterpillars."

"How funny and how odd!" Eponine laughed. "What sorts of things did you learn there?"

"Religion of course, history, grammar, geography of many parts of the world, music, sewing, and drawing, and something of etiquette," Cosette said. "Dancing was a secret. Some of the girls learned at home, and I asked about it," she added more mischievously.

"How did you ever learn about politics?"

"While living with Papa. While talking to Marius. While listening to you. Then there are books of course."

Eponine shrugged. "Then where do ladies like the Lafontaines or Citizenness Bayard learn things like clothes, jewels, and gossip?"

"From mothers and sisters, and reading up on what's fashionable," Cosette said. "As for gossip, it's a horrible habit; it's not sensible and not  _encouraged_  in places like Picpus."

"I s'pose so," Eponine said. "I'd have to learn from you then. I'm not learning from Azelma."

"I think all you need is a little patience. She's not exactly like you or me, as you can see."

"I wish she'd stop being silly."

"She will, someday. You might even laugh about it." Cosette folded the copy of the  _Moniteur_  before slowly getting to her feet. "If you can stay a little while, I have a friend or two coming; it won't be impolite for you to stay and have an introduction. You can listen and talk a little if you feel up to it. I did that too once; it's a good way to pick up something."


	57. Chapter 57: Straightening Out Crooked Lines

**Chapter 57: Straightening Out Crooked Lines**

It was a matter of course and even expediency that the week following this tumultuous first session would be filled up with the preliminary committee hearings for each petition that had been presented. ' _This is where we have to defend every single word and provision from being watered down,'_ Enjolras told himself early on the morning of March 4 as he was about to go downstairs for breakfast. Even though he'd spent much of the night finalizing his notes for the committee hearing regarding his petition, he did not feel even the smallest iota of weariness, not even if he was sure that he was the first person in the tenement who was awake especially since Combeferre had spent the night again at Picpus.

This assumption was summarily dispelled when he found Eponine already seated at the kitchen table, scribbling down something in her pocketbook and occasionally muttering to herself. There were only a few pages left in the slightly worn volume. He knew it wasn't the best idea to read over her shoulder but he did notice as he walked by that what she was working on seemed to be the beginnings of a speech. Suddenly he heard her close the notebook and he looked to see her turn about to face him. "That was also a little  _rude_ , Antoine," she said, her voice somewhere between chiding and teasing.

"Anyone can see what you're doing," Enjolras pointed out as he moved to pull up a chair.

"Oh?" Eponine asked challengingly as she got out of her seat and went up to him, deftly prying his hand away from the chair he had been dragging. She ran her fingers up his chest, stopping near his neck, where he had yet to cover up with a cravat. The feel of her callused fingers on his skin was enough to make him shiver even before she kissed him lightly. Her eyes were bright with mischief when she pulled away. "Even that?"

"Yes, that as well," he said firmly as he slipped an arm around her waist. He kissed her again before she could come up with a retort. "You were writing about-"

She rolled her eyes knowingly at this query and swatted his shoulder. "Something to say for  _my_ committee hearing. It's tomorrow afternoon."

"It is mostly a matter of question and answer."

"Unlike some people I am not good at coming up with things to say in a moment."

"I beg to differ, Eponine," he said as he let go of her so she could return to her writing. "Who will be attending from your group?"

"Musichetta and Citizenness Legendre. I am not sure about Leonor and the others, and I think Claudine has to help Combeferre with something to do with his moths," Eponine replied, moving her chair so he could bring his own seat up to the table. "You though. You're going to be alone at your hearing today. I am sure you will still have them convinced."

"Hopefully," Enjolras said over the sound of footsteps approaching the kitchen. He turned just time to see Jacques scampering over to him, with Neville following close behind. "Good morning you two."

"Jacques says he doesn't want to go to school," Neville reported.

Eponine looked at her brothers as she put away her pocketbook. "Why now?"

Jacques rubbed his nose. "Yves will punch me. I'm not big like Gavroche to fight back."

"You're small enough to run away!" Neville taunted.

"I don't want to be small!"

"Enough of that," Enjolras said sternly, managing to grab Jacques by the back of his coat before he could launch himself at Neville. He glanced at Eponine, who was also shaking her head with disbelief. Somehow she'd also managed to get a hold of Neville's arm before the latter could punch.

A whistling sound came from the doorway; now Gavroche was also in the kitchen. The bruise around his eye was healing rapidly, fading to a vaguely purplish mark. He cast a critical look on this scene and shook his head. "Don't be bad,  _momes_ ," he said, nonchalantly getting himself some bread, eggs, and some milk that Citizenness Leclair had left out earlier in the morning for the household. Neville grudgingly followed suit after a few moments.

"I'm not a  _mome_ ," Jacques retorted. He pouted as he looked up at Enjolras. "Can you come with me and punch Yves? You're big enough!" he pleaded.

"No. I'm not going to punch him," Enjolras replied.

"Why? He was being bad," Jacques whined.

"That doesn't mean you should do what he does," Enjolras pointed out.

Jacques' nose scrunched with disbelief. "What if he asks me about my papa and maman again?"

"You shouldn't lie again. Eponine and I already told you last Friday that you could get into more trouble if you do not tell the truth," Enjolras reminded him. "I'm sure you don't want you, Neville, and Gavroche to keep getting into fights."

Jacques pouted but he nodded slowly. "I won't get into trouble."

"That's good then," Enjolras said, helping Jacques into one of the chairs near the table. "Now you'd better finish your breakfast."

Eponine gave him a sceptical look. "It's that simple?"

"Is there any other way to say it?" Enjolras asked before getting the coffee; he could already smell that it was just slightly burned.

Jacques was silent for a long while, at least till he had gotten through most of his food. "When will you and Eponine get married?" he asked.

Enjolras felt his coffee nearly go down his windpipe, while nearby Eponine just managed not to spit out her drink. "What was that about?" Eponine scolded over the laughter of the two other Thenardier boys.

"The boys say that their mamas and papas are married. If you get married, you'd be my parents too!" Jacques insisted innocently.

"That is  _still_  not how it works," Enjolras said when he finally could speak again.

"How then?"

"You'll understand when you're older, but for now you have to go to school," Eponine replied firmly. She waited for her brothers to leave the kitchen before she gave Enjolras a withering look. "I s'pose you thought saying it once would be enough?"

"He did seem to understand it," Enjolras argued.

" _Seemed_ to. Well, I s'pose if he's not going to get into a fight for some time, that's something good."

"Still, not the ideal."

Eponine shrugged even as her expression grew pensive. "I think Jacques can't help looking at things the way he does. Magnon never had a man with her for very long and he doesn't remember my father at all. I like my brothers very much and I know you like them too on most days," she said more seriously.

"Well then?"

"You all deserve better than people talking that way."

Enjolras nodded, realizing what she was referring to. "We should have told him early on that he wasn't to say those things."

She smiled wryly. "Would he have listened? He likes believing stories too, like Azelma and I did when we were that little."

"Eponine, he  _made_  the story."

"Much the same thing. I can't do anything about it, but you do not have to," she trailed off before biting her lip and looking down. "Unless you still want to be entangled in my affairs?"

He swallowed hard on hearing his own words from weeks ago thrown back at him. After all, he had been given the offer, albeit tacitly, so many times in the past to leave the Thenardier siblings to their own troubles, but he had never quite taken it for reasons that were only becoming clear to him now. He looked her in the face, placing a hand on her wrist to ensure he had her attention. "It is the way it always has been between us."

"Good," she said, smiling slightly before she finished her coffee. "So when will I see you? I have a meeting at the Invalides, with some of the other ladies, at five."

"With everything I have to do today, I'll probably be at the Hotel de Ville till after six," he said.

She nodded seriously. "I s'pose at some other time in the evening then."

"Certainly, later."

Eponine adjusted their hands so she could squeeze his fingers. "That's good," she said before going upstairs to see to her brothers, leaving Enjolras to finish his breakfast.

When he arrived upstairs, he found Gavroche in the hall, buttoning up his still oversized coat. The boy made a face as he gestured to his room. "The  _mome_  is still frightened."

"Did that boy, Yves, do more aside from fighting?" Enjolras asked, all too aware of how schoolyard quarrels started.

Gavroche scowled. "It was all the  _mome_ 's fault, talking to the others like that. I told him to just come with me and Neville and shave the barbers so he wouldn't run into trouble."

"Shave the barbers?"

Gavroche merely shrugged. "I told him there was no use in saying who had the better maman and papa since we have none, but he didn't want to stop telling the other boys whenever they'd ask him," he said in an oddly serious tone.

Enjolras sighed, remembering similar boasts and arguments with his cousins. "When did this begin?" he asked.

"The beginning of the year," Gavroche said, jauntily flinging his scarf around his neck. "You should stop the presses."

"If only it were that simple," Enjolras said before going to his room to finish readying for the day. Within a quarter of an hour he had left the house and made his way to the Hotel de Ville.

He arrived to find Auguste Lafontaine smoking a cigar right outside his office door. Auguste was chewing the end of his cigar and he was fidgeting with his cuffs even before he could nod to Enjolras. "I heard that you negotiated with Citizen Duchamp," he said, his voice both nervous and accusing.

"I refused to," Enjolras replied.

Auguste swore explosively. "Then who else has? He's apparently found-"he yelled before nearly dropping his cigar. He ground it out with the heel of his shoe before looking at Enjolras. "You are lucky to escape the wrath of a woman then. I will have two to contend with. Scylla and Charybdis, you might say, either my wife or my sister!"

Enjolras raised an eyebrow. "You have been negotiating with Citizen Duchamp on their behalf, and have been unable to acquire their requests?"

Auguste nodded miserably. "You must excuse Cerise. She is young and impressionable. I have not been a very good guardian to her, and there is little my mother does to set her straight. My wife though...she is dear to me but I wish she'd curtail her damned eyes every now and then..." he trailed off and shook his head. "She will not take this news well."

"Even with a succinct, direct explanation?"

"She is a woman! Is there ever any reasoning that can be done with someone so intemperate, and so stubbornly convinced that the world must bend to her wiles? For politics, I'm half-convinced one must remain a bachelor!"

Enjolras raised an eyebrow. "If you can turn the topic of this conversation to how you intend to question petitions at today's hearing, then I shall be happy to admit you. If you are intent on still ripping apart your spouse's reputation, then I have no time to spare."

Auguste laughed dispassionately. "Reputation? I am talking about domestic peace here. I cannot imagine that I actually failed to outbid at least Citizen Bayard or Citizen Paquet for the piece; that should have been an easy matter."

"An easy matter?"

"The first is only dealing with some trivial matter at the medical school while the other is living beyond his means for a widow."

Enjolras decided not to dignify this spiteful comment, more so when he caught sight of none other than the jeweller Duchamp at the end of the hallway, talking with some richly dressed women. ' _In search of more prey,'_ he thought, noticing the jeweller's seemingly cordial expression.

Auguste started. "My sister is there!" He made as if to go to this group but before he could step forward he shook his head. "No, I have to find out what she is up to, why she's dealing with him-"

As if in response to the question, a burst of girlish laughter rang through the hallway. "It is a lovely idea, Citizen, but I'd prefer that as a present," Cerise Lafontaine said. "Not from my brother though; he already has Angelique."

"From who then?" Duchamp asked.

"Do not be so indelicate! You know that  _he_  is never going to gift you with such a thing. He is so exceedingly frugal!" an older woman scolded.

"He does not have to be. His family is one of the richest in Aix," Cerise replied.

"Careful where you say that," the older woman advised. "You don't know if  _she_  is here too."

Enjolras gritted his teeth, knowing exactly where this was going. Auguste wore a similarly irritated expression. "Cerise! What are you doing there?" Auguste called, stepping forward.

Cerise paled visibly on seeing her brother as well as Enjolras. "I did not know you were here."

"Committee work. You though, this is no place for some ladies," Auguste chided.

In the meantime Enjolras nodded to Duchamp. "Citizen, I should remind you that the Hotel de Ville is not the place for you to conduct your business," he said coldly.

"It was merely a social call, I assure you," Duchamp said.

"All the same, I advise that you carry out the rest of it elsewhere," Enjolras continued more sternly. He saw that Cerise and the ladies with her were slowly making their exit, some not even daring to look at him. Duchamp swallowed hard before at last slinking out. Auguste mumbled a 'thank you' before following Duchamp, as if intent on eavesdropping further. Enjolras waited for their footsteps to fade before heading back to his office, all the more intent to get some reading done in preparation for other meetings later in the week.

In the middle of everything, he heard a knock on his door. "Enjolras, you're in there, I know it," Bahorel called loudly from outside.

"Come in."

Bahorel laughed merrily on seeing his friend. "It is a good thing you are not predisposed to being stout; sitting behind that desk will ruin you," he said. He brought out two envelopes, which he put on Enjolras' desk. "The first is concerning that blackguard Citizen Duchamp. Aside from his obvious bribery, he has been linked to some clandestine trafficking and commerce of particular stones."

"How were you able to find that out?"

"A letter from Calais." It was clear from Bahorel's tone that this was all he would be able to divulge on a professional basis. "You would do well to warn the other legislators and even the committee officials not to deal with him."

"I think it is apparent what he wants now. He could have chosen a better hiding place than the legislature," Enjolras said ruefully as he surveyed the report Bahorel had. ' _There isn't enough evidence to come up with charges, and the chief complainants are not even here in Paris,'_ he realized after a while, shaking his head at this lost cause as he handed back the report.

Bahorel's expression was also disappointed. "I should at least like to tussle with him on grounds of absurdity. I saw poor Lafontaine downstairs, with his sister. It seems as if Duchamp has impressed on Citizenness Lafontaine that  _you_  have an interest in wooing her."

Enjolras raised an eyebrow as he gestured to the other envelope, unwilling to dignify this bit of gossip. "What about is?"

"Ah, that's happier news: a playbill for Prouvaire's play at the Odeon tomorrow," Bahorel replied.

"Is this the one he was rehearsing last week?" Enjolras asked.

"A different project," Bahorel said more merrily. "Grantaire is getting the tickets; we are all to watch. Eight in the evening. Now I know you and Eponine are busy, but you're both wasting your youth. You're not twenty-seven years old while she's a month shy of eighteen. You've never been those ages."

Enjolras looked squarely at his friend, knowing that he would not relent till he agreed to join them for the event. "It is the opening night then?" Such things had always been important to their poet friend after all.

"Naturally. Why else should we go?"

"Very well then."

"It will be a splendid way to celebrate then: Prouvaire's work on stage, the successes in the committees, and Nicholine's birthday," Bahorel said. "We'll meet at the theater at seven so we will have little trouble getting to our seats."

"That would be wise," Enjolras concurred before Bahorel shifted their conversation to other events, and then took his leave after a few minutes. It was about noon now; a guess that was confirmed by the tolling of the bells in the neighbourhood of Saint-Merry. After a hurried lunch, Enjolras read through his notes one last time before heading downstairs to another room for the first committee inquiry regarding the petition he'd sent days ago.

The Committee on Peace and Order was comprised of eleven members, some of which were already known to Enjolras because of his stint working at the Palais de Justice. He had to remain impassive on seeing who was in the chairman's seat: Gustave Paquet. ' _This measure isn't new to him,'_ Enjolras reminded himself before he began his discourse on the petition; this had been part of the  _Radicaux_  party's campaign agenda not too long ago. As he expected, most of the questions came from the other members of the committee, and revolved around the provision of abolishing capital punishment. All throughout this, Paquet seemed to be intently reviewing his copy of the petition, almost ignorant of the proceedings.

It was towards the end of the discussion that Paquet finally looked up. "Citizen Enjolras, my sources indicate that prior to the campaign period you were involved in the review of the case of the former mayor of Montreuil-sur-mer, a certain Jean Valjean. I commend you for your work there. Unfortunately if you believe that all convicts are equally capable of such good turns, then you are mistaken. There is a reason that these criminals must be punished harshly and marked after with the yellow passport."

"A sentence must be commensurate to the crime, but not commit another by further brutalizing the accused. Moreover the sentence must not persist beyond the appointed time; the use of the yellow passport is an unnecessary and harmful prolongation," Enjolras answered. "The crime of an individual cannot be rectified by the judiciary and State committing another."

Paquet smirked behind his spectacles. "Do explain."

"In times past, a man was regarded as subject or citizen before imprisonment in the  _bagne_. Once he leaves, he is regarded as one thing: a criminal. What previous name, habits, repute, or circumstances he had before his imprisonment are erased. There is no more talk of his quality or usefulness once he has exited that twisted prison, which serves to debase men beyond conscience and even survival. It is true for all classes and situations, for as long as the  _bagne_ is involved. It would be fair to conclude that it is not a question of whether a man is inherently capable of a turnaround after imprisonment, but rather if imprisonment will reduce him beyond recovery and leave him in a state of perpetual criminality owing to the degeneration the  _bagne_  does to the will and constitution," Enjolras answered. "If that alone is not a crime against the life and liberty of a citizen; which he is regardless of imprisonment and the temporary restriction of his right to free travel, a further crime is committed by marking him with the yellow passport and making him unable to do the first useful thing of finding employment, and then resuming his duties as a citizen. If he is singled out in this fashion, he will be left with few recourses other than to take the risk of being itinerant or to resort to the habits and networks learned in prison in order to ensure his survival. Then he is indeed marked forever as 'criminal' for what he has committed, and 'victim' twice over."

"Such a measure will allow dangerous elements to mingle with society," Paquet scoffed. "Then again, I am not surprised given your defense of as well as your association with them."

Enjolras' jaw tightened at this  _ad hominem,_ even as he saw a few of the committee members throwing him questioning looks. "They are entitled to representation, both in the courts and in the legislature."

"Not all of us are lucky, or perhaps as cunning, to avoid being victimized by the unscrupulous," Paquet said. "With these measures you would plunge this Republic into lawlessness and have us all ruled by brigands and robbers. It would be against the interests of public safety."

"There is a distinct difference between a sentence that is a deterrent as well as corrective in nature, as opposed to one that fosters further corruption of the individual," Enjolras said.

The older man laughed and shook his head. 'You presume too much with the rights of man." He smirked at a committee member assigned to take the minutes of the meeting before giving Enjolras a patronizing look. "The full report of this committee will be ready in two days."

"I will be expecting that it is accurate," Enjolras said, levelling a look at Paquet and his companion before making a more cordial exit. ' _One step among the many,'_  he reminded himself silently as he left the room. It would be unlikely, even disconcerting if anyone ever had a bill or petition pass unscathed through the first hearings. Nevertheless the effect of Paquet's remark was all too evident, giving rise to a fresh wave of frustration. Enjolras had to force himself not to dwell on this as he finished up paperwork in his office, staying long till after the corridors of the Hotel de Ville were silent. It was about seven in the evening when he finally locked up his papers for the night.

As he was making his way downstairs, he caught sight of two small figures running up the steps. "There he is!" Navet shouted out.

"What are you two doing here?" Enjolras asked, recognizing the gamin as well as his companion, who was none other than Gavroche.

"A message from Picpus," Navet announced, handing over a paper.

The message read as follows:

_My friend,_

_I have gotten to the bottom of the matter with Citizen Bayard. It is a misunderstanding combined with a rumor. Unfortunately his opinion hasn't changed. Will explain more if you are at the Andreas residence tonight._

_Combeferre_

Enjolras carefully pocketed the note. "As for you?" he asked Gavroche.

"Merely accompanying the fiddle," Gavroche said. "I had my dinner anyway; Ponine made sure of it."

"Yet you certainly left again as soon as she left for her meeting," Enjolras chided, only to earn a defiant look from the boy. "How are your brothers?"

"Kept their hands to themselves."

"I see," Enjolras said, nodding for them to follow him. He had half a mind to bring Gavroche and Navet to the Rue Jean Jacques Rousseau first but in the interest of time, he let them accompany him to Picpus.

It was nearly eight in the evening when they finally came in sight of the Andreas residence. The windows on both storeys were aglow, a rather unusual sight even at this hour. ' _Is someone ill?'_ Enjolras wondered as he knocked on the door. His apprehension was only confirmed when the door opened to reveal Claudine, looking drawn and haggard.

"Francois is upstairs," she said numbly by way of greeting, managing a harried smile at the sight of Gavroche and Navet. She smoothed out her rather tousled hair. "My father's shaking palsy has taken a bad turn; that was some days ago and now tonight he has a horrible cough. One is terrible enough but combined, it's enough to put him in his bed. I wasn't supposed to mention it much, but Combeferre sent for you."

Enjolras nodded, understanding now why Combeferre was suddenly spending more time in Picpus, and why Claudine had absented herself from a number of recent gatherings. "If there is any assistance you need, you can always send word."

Claudine sighed deeply with relief. "You sit here. I'll just tell Francois you are here. There's still food in the kitchen if any of you three want it," she said before hurrying upstairs while Gavroche and Navet raced to locate the leftovers from supper.

In a minute Combeferre made his appearance, with his sleeves pushed up past his elbows, and smelling of some bitter physic that had spilled on his clothes. "That was swift travelling," he said, cracking a weary smile.

"We had good timing with finding omnibuses," Enjolras said. "How is everything?"

"There are spots of clarity amidst the turbulence," Combeferre replied, taking a seat.

"First, how is Citizen Andreas?"

"Gravely ill, but with luck the balance may tip towards allowing him to leave his bed for a few weeks or months more. He will need constant tending; this is why I've had to shift some of my work here. I am sorry that I did not tell you earlier; you must have all noted my absence."

"Yes, but it is understandable. You must not be afraid to ask for any assistance," Enjolras said kindly. "You sent for me though since you had a story to tell."

"Ah yes, the situation with Citizen Bayard, or rather both Bayards," Combeferre said. He blinked as he took off his spectacles. "As everyone guessed it is merely a misunderstanding; heaven knows who heard Duchamp correctly or incorrectly, but the endpoint is that they lost whatever negotiation they made to someone else unknown. It is not a balm enough though; he has already decided against my appointment as a lecturer."

The younger man shook his head. "I'm sorry to hear it."

"I have my publications; we are almost done with our paper on moths, and I may have a more permanent schedule in the day shift now in the Necker. It is a good thing I've been allowed to set up a workspace here," Combeferre remarked, his tone surprisingly free of rancor.

"You sound content."

"For the most part. I can hardly blame the Bayards anyhow. It seems as if the Bayards are as deeply entangled as we are in a multiplicity of affairs; business and political. Citizen Bayard is apparently involved in some of these committee hearings. It is no wonder they are also an object of interest to some parties seeking advancement such as Citizen Duchamp. This added to some slight discord, and there is an equation for a costly misunderstanding."

"You will have other opportunities, I am sure of it," Enjolras said, patting Combeferre's shoulder.

"I may need more years behind me," Combeferre remarked. "I heard that today you had your petition reviewed by the committee?"

"Yes. It went well for the most part."

"It is a controversial provision. Half of the people expect you to exercise the rule of the guillotine; others are desperately hoping you will shun it. The Terror's spectre is not going to leave, not in our lifetimes."

"We may still banish the causes for criminality anyway," Enjolras said. "That would be a more complete and lasting triumph."

Combeferre smiled approvingly. "Musichetta was here too earlier today; she and Claudine had a long discussion, apparently about tomorrow's hearing, at least till Claudine happened to mention Musichetta and Joly's wedding." He let out a rueful laugh. "Joly has always been strong but I admire his patience now with Musichetta worrying over every single detail."

"They have known each other for close to ten years now; he has certainly adapted to her manner of managing these events," Enjolras said. He knew better than to mention Musichetta's present problem with her background; he was sure though that eventually he would hear of the matter from Bossuet, Joly or one of the ladies.

"I sincerely hope so; Bossuet fears for all their nerves," Combeferre said, rubbing his temples. He glanced upstairs and shook his head. "I had promised Prouvaire that either I or Claudine will attend the opening of his play tomorrow, but I fear we must both decline."

"I'll extend your regrets then."

"He'll understand. I only ask one favour: that either you or Eponine give us a good account of it. While of course I should prefer my own memory of it, I trust that your narrations should provide a skeleton enough of the entire drama."


	58. Chapter 58: Celebrity and Harmonia

**Chapter 58: Celebrity and Harmonia**

"So Musichetta said you'd have to wait here while she went off to look at more decorations for her wedding luncheon?"

"It's either that or I go with her. I'm going to wear a hole in my shoes if I follow her shopping and inquiring everywhere."

Leonor rolled her eyes as she wiped away some crumbs from her mouth. "All that fuss for one day and a ceremony. You'd think she'd be more prudent about these things."

"I s'pose it's because she plans to get married only once. If she wasn't prudent, she and Courfeyrac wouldn't have written up the  _acte de notoriete_ ," Eponine said, taking care to lower her voice lest she be overheard. It was past two, a little less than an hour before they were expected at the Hotel de Ville for the hearing regarding their petition. They had agreed to rendezvous beforehand at the Place du Chatele.  _'I don't think though we can ever really be ready for this meeting,'_ Eponine thought anxiously.

"Most of us hope to only marry once, but you won't catch me making too much of a fuss. I don't know how you deal with her asking you about the wedding every time we meet," Leonor remarked petulantly.

"It helps that I know she only has a month left to worry about it," Eponine said with a shrug.

Leonor sighed despairingly. "Imagine how it will be when she and Joly have their first child! She'll be a nervous wreck or fawning each day over it!"

"While Joly does the worrying for all of them," Eponine said dryly. She bit her lip as the memory of a dream came to mind; for some reason the night before she'd dreamed of her brothers playing with a child she'd never seen before, a little girl even younger than Jacques, with golden hair and dark brown eyes. ' _Impossible,'_ she reminded herself as she looked towards the street. She nodded to Citizenness Legendre, who was just alighting from an omnibus. "Musichetta will be here in a while; she just went to look for something," she said by way of greeting.

"I saw her in a shop," Citizenness Legendre said, dusting off her dress. "What about Citizenness Andreas? Shouldn't she be here?"

"She won't be here since she has to see to something at home today," Eponine replied slowly. Although Enjolras and Gavroche had explained to her Claudine's trouble with taking care of her father, she had still received a note from her friend outlining the matter more thoroughly, as well as with an entreaty not to reveal outside of their circle of close friends.

The fishwife cursed under her breath. "Musichetta may be your friend too but that flighty woman is hardly a proxy."

Eponine shook her head reprovingly but it was too late; Musichetta was approaching them and it was clear by the tightness in the corners of her lips that she had heard what Citizenness Legendre said. "Good afternoon to you," Musichetta greeted calmly. Her smile, which had been cordial for her friends, was absolutely cold when she and Citizenness Legendre locked gazes.

Citizenness Legendre looked her over from head to toe. "Are you ready then?"

Musichetta grinned humourlessly. "I have been studying. Let's go." She shrugged off Leonor's concerned expression and waited for Citizenness Legendre to walk on ahead of her and Eponine. "So she thinks I'm flighty then? I have had a bit of an education too," she whispered vehemently to Eponine.

"I s'pose it's because she saw you looking for decorations," Eponine pointed out.

Musichetta frowned petulantly. "It's none of her business, and I'm not letting my wedding look the least bit shabby. You should come with me after the meeting; I need your opinion.

"I'd love to but I shouldn't; I need to see to my brothers," Eponine protested.

"Can't they go home by themselves? And you could ask Enjolras-"

"He told me he'd be in one meeting from another, but he's sure to be at the Odeon later with the rest of us. Anyway, I do have to see to things at home."

Musichetta gave Eponine an exasperated look even as they approached the Hotel de Ville. "Who else am I to ask? Everyone else says they have no time."

Before Eponine could come up with a retort, she noticed that there was a crowd at the entrance of the Hotel de Ville, apparently mobbing a carriage. ' _Gilt and like a Rothschild; that's the Lafontaines,'_ she realized, taking care now to adjust her hat so that it hid her hair and her face more completely. As she drew closer she realized that there was more than one source of this commotion. Leonor and Citizenness Legendre were greeting some grisettes and shopkeepers who had gathered to one side. Closer to the door, another group was congregated around Enjolras and Rossi; a spokesman from this group was talking heatedly with the two legislators. The combined din of greetings, harangues, and catcalls was almost deafening but Eponine made sure not to clap her hands to her ears or make any move that would cause her to be conspicuous.

However before she could slip past where Leonor was, someone shouted, "Citizenness Thenardier!" Before Eponine could reply to whoever had called to her, she found her voice quite drowned out by a sudden tide of shouts and heckling.

"Good luck with the hearing!"

"Finally, a lady doing something useful in the legislature-"

"What is  _she_ doing here?"

"Citizenness Thenardier, if you have a moment-"a journalist said, reaching for her elbow.

Eponine paused, recognizing this writer as one of Grantaire's colleagues. "I'm sorry, but I have to be at the hearing, "she said, glancing towards where Citizenness Legendre had already entered the building.

"Of course, of course, but it's only a simple question, Citizenness," the journalist said half-apologetically. "Is it true that you and Citizen Enjolras wrote that petition together?"

"He didn't put a single word in it. Nor did the other legislators. All of us ladies wrote a bit or did something for it, even if not all of our names are listed," Eponine replied, raising her voice to make herself heard. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed Rossi looking on with a worried expression till Enjolras gave him a reproving glance. For a fleeting second, Eponine and Enjolras locked eyes by way of tacit acknowledgment. Eponine knew better than to call to him, which was just as well as his attention was soon taken up by a frenetic journalist's inquiry.

"Where does a woman learn to write a political petition?" an attorney shouted to Eponine.

"No place. We just wrote and went over it again and again," Eponine replied, even as she could see some of the men in the crowd starting to snicker. "Some of us read, so we know something about what looks proper on paper," she said a little more tersely. Fortunately it was at that moment she also caught sight of Musichetta and Leonor signalling to her, hence giving her an opening to excuse herself and make her way to the door of the Hotel de Ville.

"No wonder that Bossuet calls them vultures," Musichetta said with dismay as soon as they were all indoors. "One wrong word, they would have been all over you."

"I know," Eponine whispered, finally taking a deep breath of relief. She couldn't help but glance towards where Enjolras was still outside with Rossi, but she knew better than to go to them.  _'He'll manage just fine; you would have known if he wasn't,'_ she reminded herself if only to quash the worried feeling in her gut. She looked to Citizenness Legendre, who was scowling at her. "I s'pose we should go upstairs to the meeting room now."

"You were drawing too much attention," Citizenness Legendre said accusingly.

"I had to be a little polite," Eponine replied with a smile. ' _We're already about to walk into another sort of argument anyway,'_ she thought as she and her companions made their way to the small meeting room designated to them.

Even though the day was unusually crisp and overcast for March, Eponine still felt a chill course through her back as she took her seat between Musichetta and Leonor, across from a dozen officials all surveying their copies of the petition. Eponine recognized only one of these individuals; the physician Citizen Bayard. ' _Shouldn't he be at other business in the medical school?'_ she wondered but she knew better than to ask especially given the recent outcome of Combeferre's prospects in that institution. She sat up as straight as she could and cleared her throat. "We're here now..." she greeted.

"In a moment Citizenness...Dernard, isn't it?" Citizen Bayard said

"Citizenness  _Thenardier,"_ Eponine corrected. While she had never been exceedingly proud of her family name, hearing it so casually mangled was enough to make her wish for a moment that she did have a name that commanded more respect. "I have called at your home before, regarding this exact matter,'" she added in a less clipped tone.

"Ah yes," this man replied, his tone now barely coasting on cordial. "I must say, Citizennesses, this is a particularly bold and admirable effort. I am surprised that you did not ask for the endorsement of any one particular legislator but you submitted your petition for plenary consideration."

"It's a matter that concerns more than one district, so we believed it was more fitting to proceed in that manner," Leonor answered.

"That is correct. The lack of endorsement though is also telling in the form and construction of the petition. It is clear that none of the four of you have been trained in the language employed in the legislature. I may be a doctor by profession but the rest of this committee is more familiar with the legal field, and the errors in your writing," Citizen Bayard said, holding up the petition.

"There was nothing of that prescribed to us when we asked about writing petitions," Citizenness Legendre pointed out hotly. "We write to be understood."

Citizen Bayard raised an eyebrow. "This is the legislature of Paris, not the marketplace. Anyway the manner of writing can easily be rectified; I am sure the paralegals here will be happy to help you." He paused to leaf through some pages of the petition. "I am alarmed though at the economic...ramifications of this move, Citizennesses."

Eponine could already feel a slight ache in her temples at the mention of the word 'economic'; after hearing her father use it so many times before, and in so many ways, she was no longer quite sure what it meant. "What do you mean?"

"If you propose that women be given the same wages as men, many businesses will not be able to sustain that sort of compensation. These businesses will close and put many more people out of their jobs. Then you will have started another problem," another man said.

"Why must women receive the lower wages in the first place? Often they do as much or all of the work in some businesses," Musichetta argued. "Some places employ women only; milliners and some seamstresses, some cafes, many spinners, and a number of shops too. The question of wages is very applicable there, in fact more so."

"A woman's work is not of the same nature as that of a man. Therefore the same compensation cannot be expected," Citizen Bayard said with a slight smile.

"It still serves for the same things, like getting bread, paying for the rent and helping one's family get on somehow," Eponine said.

"If that is the case, men's wages should be raised if they are to support their families better," a third man chimed in.

"Not everyone has a man to do such a thing for them: no father, no brother or one old enough, no husband or anyone who could stand as such. Then a woman has to make to do for herself, and half-starve each day for it," Eponine replied before any of her companions could say a word to this obtuse remark. "They all do what they have to do; I should know. I have three brothers I care for since they are so young and there's no one else who should do it. I am not the only one who has such a situation; I talk to ladies, they all tell me the same thing and sometimes they weep too since there's not much help around for them. They need to find some work that they can manage, and that brings them enough."

Citizen Bayard's smile turned into a leer. "Seeking an occupation is hardly a worry, especially for those charming ladies of the public. You are certainly cognizant of that fact."

Eponine could taste something sour in the back of her mouth at this jibe. "They do well, only to be handed to the police for it."

"Such a fate wouldn't befall them if they were of course guided in a more upright, virtuous path," Citizen Bayard replied.

"It is not for lack of virtue, but in part due to a lack of a useful education," Leonor seethed. "Something that would make a woman suited for more than the home or her family's affairs!"

"What! Then next, you will be campaigning for a seat in the legislature!" Citizen Bayard laughed.

"That is not our intent," Citizenness Legendre snapped.

"This rise in wages and an increased impetus to work will entice more women to exclude themselves from the singular pleasures of their sex. There is much they can do in the private sphere-the home-where their talents and gifts are best suited. Leave this sphere to the men with experience and the mettle to handle it."

It was all that Eponine could do not to laugh at this all too familiar turn of phrase. "Citizen, some of that was from Rousseau, no doubt. I know it when I hear it."

"I see you have read," Citizen Bayard said. "That is admirable; I do appreciate an educated conversationalist as opposed to a mere prattler at my desk or at my table. You have met my wife, so you can testify to this fact. I am sure you agree with me that in these times, it is a woman's prime responsibility to bring up her children to become citizens, living out these Republican virtues."

"And if a woman is not a mother?"

"There is no end of ways for a woman to be useful."

' _Useful to whom?'_ Eponine would have asked but she could see the committee members writing furiously on their own copies of the petition, shaking their heads and frowning. It felt as if she was speaking to thin air, or worse, a mocking mask. "Is there anything more you want to ask about?" she finally said after a few moments.

"None, for the time being. You may expect the report..." he replied as he fiddled with his pocket watch. "Tomorrow. It should be ready by the afternoon. In the next hearing, in a fortnight, I will expect a cleaner copy of the petition, in the appropriate form."

"You will have it. Thank you," Eponine said, doing her utmost to force more civility into her voice than she believed she could muster at that moment.

Musichetta was pale with shock and rage as she followed her friends out of the room. "I have  _never_ been taken for such a fool before!" she hissed as soon as they were out of earshot of the meeting room.

"That entire committee needs to be strung up. If they were born women for a day they would not be so dismissive," Citizenness Legendre fumed, making a wringing gesture with her hands.

Eponine shook her head. "They never meant to have a serious discussion with us."

"Is there any other way of getting this question settled? Do we have to go to the legislature?" Musichetta asked.

"There's no other way if we're hoping for this to do more good than just in Paris," Leonor pointed out.

"Now what then? They don't expect us to show up at the next hearing," Musichetta said.

"Of course  _we_  will return," Citizenness Legendre said. "I didn't fight at a barricade just to be told this to my face. You though-"

"I've faced worse men with cudgels and knives, what harm can these ones do?" Eponine remarked. She laughed wryly as the memory of her father's aborted robbery of the Rue Plumet came to mind; that had been a different danger then, but one that was anything but far-reaching. "I don't know what that Citizen Bayard has gotten into; his wife is also a political. Those other gentlemen are used to the sort of ladies who can just be told to shoo."

"That's all well and good but that doesn't change the fact that we are as good as starting from the beginning," Leonor said. "Rewriting it that way; I can only imagine what they want."

"If it's anything like what I've seen Courfeyrac work on, it will take us the rest of this week and more to finish," Musichetta griped. "With everything I have to prepare-"

"Your wedding isn't for a month, Musichetta!" Leonor snapped. "You're getting quite tiresome."

"You've always been cross with me just because Feuilly isn't around," Musichetta retorted.

"You're choosing a fine time to be so self-centered."

Eponine rolled her eyes as her friends began to argue. "If you're going to keep talking that way, I'll leave you to that since I have to get my brothers; I'll see you both at the Odeon later," she said tersely, shaking off Musichetta's attempt to grab her arm. "Good day to you Citizenness Legendre," she added before heading to the Hotel de Ville's door. For a moment it occurred to her that perhaps she should go upstairs and see if Enjolras was still in the building; it was likely too that he had some law books that he could let her look at. ' _Knowing him though, he's off at a meeting so I'd better not disturb him,'_ she reminded herself.

"Eponine, wait!" Eponine heard Musichetta shout as she reached the street. The older grisette ran up, her face pale and contrite. "I may as well go back to the Latin Quartier now. After what happened there, I'm not in the mood to go about," she said, fanning her face. "When was the last time you went to the theater anyway, Eponine?"

It took Eponine some time to think back on this; it had been far too long. "December, but the one before the barricades. Gavroche gave me tickets but to the upper benches."

"We'll have a good box tonight," Musichetta said triumphantly as they boarded an omnibus. "It's good to finally see Prouvaire get this far with his work; it's the biggest yet. He works on his words for so long and so hard, the poor dear. It's good that your sister helps him."

"In some way. She reads the parts and she also helps him and his friends get costumes and things," Eponine said with a shrug. It was rather odd to see her sister and Prouvaire working together in this way, but it seemed as if they were content and even happy with this arrangement. ' _Then again it's no odder than anyone else's,'_ she thought as she and Musichetta found their places in the vehicle. It did not take long till they met with Gavroche, Neville, and Jacques at the schoolhouse, and then made their way to the Rue Jean Jacques Rousseau.

When they arrived, Combeferre was heading out the door carrying some books and a night-case. "Good day to you. I wish I could say the same for my timing," he greeted them ruefully.

"Aren't you and Claudine joining us at the Odeon?" Musichetta asked him worriedly.

"Not this time. I have already sent my regards and congratulations to Prouvaire," Combeferre replied sadly. "How did the hearing go?"

"It was hardly a hearing," Eponine said flatly.

Combeferre winced at this reply. "I am sorry to hear that. How bullish was the committee?"

"Half of it was the committee, half of it was the head, Citizen Bayard himself," Musichetta explained. "I didn't know he was also interested in this sort of committee."

"He has a lot of interests aside from medicine," Combeferre replied, his brow furrowing. "He at least read the petition?"

"I can't be sure how far of course; we'll find out tomorrow what else that entire lot wouldn't say to us today," Eponine said. "I'll show the report to Claudine as soon as I can. If I go to Picpus tomorrow, I won't be getting in the way, I s'pose?"

"On the contrary I think she would like for you to visit," Combeferre confided as he adjusted his hat. "I hope you all enjoy the evening," he added.

"You too, at least as best as you can," Eponine replied before ushering Gavroche, Jacques, and Musichetta into the house while Neville hung back to chat for a few moments with Combeferre.

In the front hall, Citizenness Leclair was busy knitting a pair of stockings. She smiled sympathetically at Eponine and Musichetta. "I couldn't help but overhear. It's a pity you had to run up against such horrid men in that way," she said over the din of Gavroche and Jacques racing each other upstairs.

"I s'pose it isn't as bad as what happened with Combeferre dealing with that disagreeable physician," Eponine pointed out. "We've got some hope of doing things well enough, but he's had to look elsewhere for his opportunities."

"It would be better for him and for Claudine as well. They deserve that peace, after all these years," Citizenness Leclair remarked, moving her feet aside to allow Neville to hobble his way past and make his own way to the stairs. "I could still remember when I first met Claudine. It must have been maybe six or so years ago, now that I count back on it. They laughed more then."

"Has it really been that long?" Eponine asked, slightly amazed.

"It has. I've known Joly for ten years. Most of our friends have been here in Paris for eight years or so," Musichetta explained.

"It's a good thing you're finally getting married, Musichetta," the concierge said, her tone both teasing and scolding. "I don't know why Combeferre won't propose to Claudine yet; they're practically wed if you ask me."

"Practically wed?" Eponine asked.

Citizenness Leclair rolled her eyes. "I'm sure you know what I mean. At least they are discreet enough when you, Enjolras, and the boys are around. When you all aren't, that is another story. They forget I can hear things too."

Musichetta burst out laughing. "I have never heard Claudine complain after all."

"If she did, they wouldn't carry on so, and so avidly," Citizenness Leclair whispered mischievously as she set aside her knitting altogether and began making her way to the kitchen. "I've had a number of tenants over the years but too few happy couples among them."

"How many have you had?" Eponine asked as she and Musichetta followed the older woman.

"I've had perhaps thirty. This house has been in my family for a very long time. Combeferre and Enjolras have been my longest standing tenants," the concierge said, with a fondness almost akin to that of a mother doting on a grown son. "Of course it wasn't always easy; I almost dread it each time I see Combeferre and Claudine walking about with vials of heaven knows what. Then there were all the guns and papers Enjolras would hide. You have no idea how much I'd worry about the police suddenly paying a visit. I did scold him a few times but he always said he hid them well."

' _I'm sure he tore up some of the floorboards in his room,'_ Eponine thought with a smirk as she began to help prepare a pot of stew that at least her brothers were sure to eat. Musichetta stayed in the kitchen for a little while before deciding to go home to change into something nicer to wear to the theater.

A long while later, as she was waiting for the stew to simmer, Eponine heard the front door open, followed by some childish laughter. She carefully slipped over to the doorway between the kitchen and the front hall, and had to muffle her laughter with her hand at the sight that greeted her. For some reason Jacques had thought that the best way to greet Enjolras would be to climb on the young man's shoulders, getting footprints all over Enjolras' clothes in the process.

"Jacques, must you do that?" Enjolras said in mock protest as he tried to keep the child from covering his eyes. He reddened deeply when he saw Eponine watching them with a mirthful grin. "Good evening, Eponine," he greeted awkwardly.

"You have no idea how you look, Antoine," she teased. "Jacques, let go. Enjolras has to get ready to go with the rest of us to watch Prouvaire's play," she said, reaching up to grab her younger brother.

Jacques reluctantly let himself be lowered to the floor. "Can I watch?

"Some other night. There aren't enough tickets for later," Eponine said. ' _Hopefully all will go well tonight so there will be another performance,'_ she thought.

Jacques nodded hopefully. "Will you tell me the story?"

"Tomorrow morning," Enjolras replied in a matter of fact tone.

"Are you  _sure_  about that?" Eponine asked, all too aware of the fact that Prouvaire's writing tended towards rather bizarre subjects. This worry was lost on Jacques, at least judging by the enthusiasm in his voice as he ran upstairs to give the news to his brothers. Eponine chuckled before giving Enjolras a pointed look. "He'll remember it. You won't have peace tomorrow at breakfast," she warned him.

"We won't have to go into explicit detail," Enjolras pointed out, touching her hand briefly. "Did the hearing go well?"

She shook her head bitterly. "You told me that Citizen Bayard wasn't exactly progressive but he was worse than you said. He actually tried justifying his views using  _Rousseau_."

Enjolras' eyebrows shot up. "What about it?"

"Didn't Rousseau insist someplace that women are not suited for the public?"

"You then could have reminded Citizen Bayard to read the rest of Rousseau's book."

Eponine snorted, more so on seeing the amused smirk on Enjolras' face. "He also said there was a problem with the way we wrote the petition. I s'pose he wants us to make it the same way you all wrote yours," she said more seriously.

"He means legal language."

"Is that what you call it?"

Enjolras nodded. "Writing in that form isn't a simple matter. For your purposes it would be feasible to follow the flow and pattern of listing legal provisions and articles. As to the style and other conventions, that might prove to be too cumbersome."

"People shouldn't write laws in such a confusing way then."

"It is the basis of much of the legal profession."

"That's terrible of you to say that!" Eponine laughed. "You, being a lawyer after all."

"As an aim to a purpose," Enjolras reminded her. "It will not be easy to learn."

"I know. You have books here though; I can take a look and begin from there," Eponine said.

Enjolras paused, as if trying to picture this option. "I'll give you a book tomorrow morning. Hopefully it will be useful to you," he said at last.

She nodded gratefully as she reached for his hand, running her fingers over his own callused ones. "I'm sure though you'll have far less trouble with your petition. Paquet can only push the committee so much," she said, noticing the still pensive look that furrowed Enjolras' brow."What was that ruckus at the Hotel de Ville for?"

"It was about Mathieu's petition regarding prices; the press wanted to hear any early comment on the matter," he said. "It's causing a lot of debate."

"In and out of the committee?" she asked.

"Yes. It is urgent business; therefore much of the rest of the week will be taken up with it. There is also the task of reviewing old policies for future amendments. There are a good many of those," he replied, a note of frustration evident in his tone. "None of those are straightforward."

' _Is anything still that way anymore?'_ Eponine wondered as she slipped her arms around him, resting her cheek against the familiar softness of his clothes. She could feel the tension in his back even when he suddenly pulled her nearly flush against his chest and buried his face in her hair, letting out what sounded like a strained sigh. She rubbed at the tight knot she found between his shoulders, pressing insistently till at last she felt him relax somewhat and hold her more tightly. "I don't want you to worry so much this evening, Antoine," she whispered in his ear.

He nodded slightly as he cupped her chin with one hand and then kissed her gently. "I'll manage. Thank you," he said in a low voice, finally smiling before he let go of her.

She returned his grin as she tried to dust off his grimy clothes. "We'd better get ready soon. I should tell Jacques to take off his shoes before he plays that silly game of his again," she said more teasingly before going to the kitchen to serve up the stew for her brothers. Once the boys were already eating, she rushed upstairs to try to make herself presentable for the evening.

There was not much time to fuss; in fact the best Eponine could do was to smooth out her green dress as best as she could, and tie a blue ribbon around her waist to accent the garment somewhat. As she tried to arrange her hair, pinning up some strands only to tug them loose once more, she couldn't help but feel a frisson of nervousness in her chest. Perhaps it was the effect of knowing that for the first time, she would have a proper seat in the theater instead of elbowing people just to get a good view. ' _Perhaps it's because it's another occasion wherein people will be looking,'_ she thought, finally settling for simply tying her hair back and away from her face. She sighed as she tried to remember every bit of Cosette's advice and coaching from a few days ago. Tonight would be another good opportunity to put it to use.

It took the better part of an hour before Eponine and Enjolras could finally make their way to the Odeon. They arrived to find the theater's anterooms and grand hall bustling with spectators. A brawl was about to break out near the stairway leading to the higher seats. Not far away, more elegantly dressed theater goers made their way to the front rows and the boxes, chatting animatedly among themselves. Cockades, puce ribbons and other political regalia were nowhere in sight; tonight was one for jewels, feathered hairdos, and elegant tailcoats. Everything was a whirl of light and color, but the most disconcerting thing for Eponine was having various people walk up to her and Enjolras to greet them cordially, even effusively. Some of these faces were acquaintances from the  _Radicaux_  party, but a good many were unknown to her.

"We'll never get  _inside_  if we keep up like this!" Eponine complained after they managed to narrowly avoid being stuck in a conversation with a garrulous gentleman.

"Yes, more so since neither of us has the tickets," Enjolras pointed out tersely as he looked around for their friends. "Courfeyrac is there to the left," he said at last, clasping her shoulder.

Eponine craned her neck and finally caught sight of the dandy just as he was running up to them. He was holding their tickets in one hand. "We saved good seats in the box for you," Courfeyrac said by way of greeting. "Prouvaire won't be joining us right away though; he's got some troubles backstage."

"What sorts of troubles?" Enjolras asked.

Courfeyrac shrugged. "You never know with a new cast."

"Is my sister with him?" Eponine asked.

"I haven't seen her yet," Courfeyrac said. "I doubt she'd be with him though."

Eponine shrugged, knowing better than to comment on Azelma's affairs. With Courfeyrac's help they were able to make their way through the crowd and up to the box where most of their friends were already exchanging conjectures about the play.

Bossuet laughed on seeing the newcomers. "A fine reversal; Combeferre is absent at the theater, Enjolras is not. Eponine, I must congratulate you for finally getting Enjolras to enjoy some of the finer things in this earthly plane."

"I had nothing to do with it," Eponine deadpanned, shooting a glance at Bahorel and Grantaire.

"Prouvaire would have prevailed on you to watch one of these days," Joly pointed out.

Nicholine, who was seated near the front of the box, motioned for Eponine to sit down. "The Lafontaine ladies are here. I wouldn't put it past one of them to go around the hall to give their own style of greeting," she warned.

Enjolras' jaw clenched at this news even as he took the seat right next to Eponine's. "The show is starting in a few minutes. It would be too inconvenient."

"Where is Azelma?" Eponine wondered aloud, even as she began to search the crowd. A quick glance to the far side of the hall was enough for her to spot the Lafontaines and their coterie. Most of the group was circled around Angelique, but Cerise sat apart from the group, clearly intent on surveying something. It was too far for Eponine to ascertain her impression, but it seemed that a scowl of fury had passed over Cerise's pretty face when she looked her way.

Suddenly Courfeyrac waved to someone entering the box. "We were wondering when we'd see you, Prouvaire," he greeted the poet.

"I was worried I'd never be able to come up here," Prouvaire said, wiping his face.

"Take a seat. You're out of breath," Enjolras advised.

Prouvaire wiped his face again and nearly flopped into his seat. "All the smaller things to fix, even after so many rehearsals. I almost fear that  _this_  is a rehearsal."

"All will be well," Courfeyrac said. "Is Azelma with you?"

"She was at home; I had to rush here. She said she'd follow..." Prouvaire trailed off as his gaze suddenly came to rest in the general direction of a box to their left. "No. That can't be Azelma," he whispered.

Eponine stood up to get a better look at what had her friend so aghast. In the neighboring box, Azelma was seated with some other young men and women, clearly the center of a round of compliments. Like nearly everyone in attendance that evening, she was the very epitome of elegance, with her hair in graceful curls and her face delicately rouged and powdered. One of her delicately gloved fingers toyed with a strand of her red crystal and tortoiseshell necklace, occasionally wandering down to show off the heavy ruby necklace at its very center.


	59. Chapter 59: The Net of Plausibility

**Chapter 59: The Net Known as Plausibility**

Even before Eponine got to her feet, Enjolras already knew that something was very wrong. One look at who was seated in the next box was enough to fill him with utter dismay, especially when he heard Prouvaire hastily mumble an excuse and leave his seat. Before Eponine could follow suit, Enjolras swiftly grabbed her wrist. "Not here."

She wrested her hand out of his grip. "I need to know before she does anything worse!"

"It cannot be worse than it already is, Eponine.  _Everyone_  has already seen her with that necklace. She's not making any attempt to conceal it," Musichetta pointed out.

"Even after most of us agreed to keep away from that jeweller," Bahorel said, his brow knitting with disappointment. "There has to be an explanation for this."

"Prouvaire might already have gotten to the bottom of it," Joly remarked, gesturing to where Prouvaire and Azelma were now exiting the next box, presumably to talk elsewhere. Prouvaire's expression was that of a man betrayed, while Azelma had gone very pale. The doctor shook his head on seeing this. "I do not think I want to know exactly what."

"Where could she have gotten such a sum? They say that Duchamp would not have let that piece go for less than half a million francs!" Therese whispered.

"Only half a million? Now that is a failed auction," Grantaire remarked. "I had thought that people would be talking of a lower minimum."

' _Unless the transaction was not purely monetary in nature,'_ Enjolras mused silently, recalling Duchamp's botched attempt at a negotiation from the previous week. Yet what could Azelma have offered to the jeweller in exchange for the necklace? Before he could speculate on this, he heard the first strains of a haunting violin solo, signifying the start of the play. He glanced at Eponine as she sat down next to him again, but this time her eyes were dark with a fury he had not seen since the night they'd rescued Neville and Jacques at the Rue de Bac. It was clear to him that she was biding her time till she could confront her sister; perhaps she was waiting for Prouvaire to return. Yet even when the first act of the play ended, neither Prouvaire nor Azelma had returned to their seats.

"Should we look for them? I don't like that they might have been arguing for so long," Courfeyrac asked in a worried undertone.

Enjolras nodded before looking to Eponine, who shrugged by way of agreement. The three of them discreetly left their seats and went to search the theater; Eponine went to search the side they were on, Courfeyrac crossed towards the side where the Lafontaines' box was, while Enjolras surveyed the theater's anterooms and entrance.

As he feared, he did not find the pair in this area of the building. Just as he was about to double back to rendezvous with Eponine and Courfeyrac, he caught sight of Paquet exiting the theater, his face set in a determined scowl. The older man's eyes hardened on seeing Enjolras and he muttered a curse before hurrying down to a waiting carriage. ' _That can only mean trouble tomorrow,'_ Enjolras thought, remembering now that he would have to get the committee report from Paquet the next afternoon.

As he retraced his steps, he heard the rush of another pair of feet desperately trying to flee the premises. In a few moments he saw a slender figure emerge from the shadows and dash towards the door. "Azelma!" he called.

The girl stopped in her tracks. "What do you want?" she practically snarled. Some strands of hair had escaped her coiffure, giving her a wild appearance. Her left cheek was red and puffy, looking almost gruesome in the crimson reflection of her jewelry.

Enjolras looked her in the face, expecting to see defiance. To his surprise he was met with a mingling of terror mingled with spite. "Where is Prouvaire?" he asked calmly.

Azelma's gaze dropped to the floor and for a moment her expression was stricken. "The backstage. I don't know," she mumbled. She rubbed her sore cheek before looking at Enjolras again. "So you're going to tell him to stop speaking to me now?"

"That is not my concern."

"Did you know that Eponine wanted the necklace too? I am so sure she never told you."

"That is only for me and her to know," Enjolras pointed out. All the same he recalled Duchamp's wheedling just days ago at the Hotel de Ville. Was there a grain of truth after all to the jeweler's speech? Enjolras gritted his teeth as he dismissed this thought. "When did you negotiate with Duchamp?"

"I already told Ponine. You can just ask her; she'll tell you that," Azelma said, raising her chin. "You're a rich man. Why didn't you get it for her?"

"It would not have been right to," the young man replied harshly. It was the only explanation he was willing to give; it would have been the height of imprudence to outline what else he knew of Duchamp's machinations.

Azelma was silent, her eyes wide as if she was studying him. "You think she's smart. Everyone does. Papa used to say that all the time," she said at length. "She's really just as silly as me and you know it. She just thinks that everyone believes she's respectable. "

"You never answered my question."

"She's just as bad a thief. She would help Papa bring around those old letters of his; she was always the one who found addresses for him. She's been on the streets too, and it's obvious what she had to do to survive. She would have thrown herself at Marius Pontmercy, or even Theodule Gillenormand. How could you possibly be respectable with her?"

"I know all of this, and this has nothing to do with the matter at hand."

"You still think she is a lady?"

"You and I may have very different definitions of the word," Enjolras answered coldly.

Azelma paled and fidgeted with one crystal strand of her necklace. "Well then you'd better go before my sister starts looking for you too. Jehan also knows where I will be. Good evening to you," she blurted out before running towards the theater entrance.

Enjolras quickly made his way back to the box, only to be met by his friends' worried, questioning looks. "No sign of Prouvaire. Azelma has just left the theater," he said as he made his way back to his seat.

"She's going to their apartment," Eponine chimed in. She had a handkerchief pressed to her left cheek, and the sleeves of her pelisse were torn.

"What happened there?" Enjolras asked, gesturing to Eponine's face.

"Got caught by one of Azelma's fingernails. It's only a bit of a cut," she replied, wincing slightly. "I s'pose I shouldn't have talked with her but I had to know."

Enjolras sighed with exasperation. "What did she say?"

Eponine looked around and shook her head. "We can't talk about it here," she whispered.

"It's a rather dire matter, Enjolras," Courfeyrac said in an undertone. "Too many overeager ears for it."

"Very well then," Enjolras said; the wary and grim looks of the rest of the group only served to confirm the weightiness of the matter. It was impossible now for nearly anyone to fully enjoy the remainder of the play. In fact even Grantaire had ceased his usual commentary on mythological allusions, and was now merely watching with one hand resting in Nicholine's lap. The group stayed on till the applause at the play's finale, hoping against all hope to see Prouvaire there.

"We'd better check at our apartments; he's likely to be at one of those places," Enjolras advised as they slowly made their way out of the theater. "That or he might be at the masons' lodge."

"We very well can't follow him  _inside_  there," Bossuet said. "But I'll pass by and knock just to make sure."

Enjolras nodded gratefully. "Till tomorrow then," he said. After a few minutes exchanging conjectures and remarks about the play, the young people parted ways and headed for their respective residences. Since the area was so crowded, making it difficult for anyone to find a cabriolet or a fiacre, Enjolras and Eponine decided to make their way home on foot.

Eponine waited till they were a good way from the Place de l'Odeon before finally speaking up. "She used Prouvaire's money. Three hundred thousand francs," she whispered, her voice thick with dismay and disbelief. "It's more than what you, me, and all our friends could make even if we worked for a year and a day, and put it all together."

Enjolras raised an eyebrow. "How exactly did she get that sum from him?"

"She did it yesterday afternoon; she copied his signature on a note to get the money."

For a long time, Enjolras was silent. He'd been expecting something along the lines of heavy borrowing, perhaps a little coercion, but forgery was a significantly different matter. ' _This is not something that can simply be buried,'_ he thought before looking at Eponine again. "Does she know there are very serious consequences to this act?"

"Yes, such as Les Madelonntes," Eponine said bitterly. "I won't let her return there."

"Eponine, if there is an investigation into this matter, you cannot conceal the truth." Enjolras waited for her to say something but the only reply he received was a distrusting, almost wary glare. "It might not end in imprisonment; that would depend on who'd file charges."

"If people find out," Eponine pointed out. "There has to be a way they won't."

"There is no doubt that they will, after tonight."

"If she doesn't end up in prison again, she'll run back to the streets once people start talking."

Enjolras gritted his teeth, remembering exactly why Eponine had agreed to let Azelma move in with Prouvaire in the first place. "I'm not saying that you should be the one to report her to the police—"

"I know what you want me to do, and I'm not doing it," Eponine retorted, turning around to face him. Her hands were clenched into fists, and her face was flushed. "If anyone asks, I'm not telling."

"That could make you an accessory to a crime, Eponine."

She laughed humourlessly. "You have a funny way of saying that I'd be joining in. You can try now and you won't get a word out from me, you'll see."

"What about Prouvaire? Three hundred thousand francs is not easily explained away," he snapped angrily. How could he get her to see that this was a wrong situation that could not simply be glossed over? He looked her in the face again. "There will be questions regarding something he did not do, and this could destroy his credibility and his good name."

"He won't go to La Force for this!"

"It is still unjust. You cannot let this happen to a friend."

Eponine glared at him for a long moment. "Azelma is my  _sister_. I s'pose you won't ever understand," she said vehemently before walking off.

Enjolras swore under his breath as he hurried after her, determined not to let this accusation go unanswered. Even with his longer stride it was quite some time before he was at her side again. By that time, they were at the tenement; she was at the doorstep, fumbling for her passkey. He managed to locate his own key more easily, and went up to unlock the door at the same moment Eponine found her own keys. It was at that exact instant though that the door opened from the inside, revealing Prouvaire's harried and wan face.

"Prouvaire! How long have you been here?" Eponine asked worriedly.

"Half an hour, maybe longer," Prouvaire replied. He gestured to a chair behind him. "I couldn't get Jacques to go upstairs; he insisted on waiting here."

Eponine cringed. "I'll take care of him," she said, pushing past Enjolras without as much as a glance at him. She carefully scooped up her still sleeping brother and made her way upstairs, not even pausing to say good night.

Enjolras rubbed his temples, already dreading the silent war that was now underway. "I'm sorry about this entire matter," he said to Prouvaire, who'd taken a seat again.

The poet nodded somberely. "And Azelma?"

"She said you know where she was headed?" Enjolras asked.

"I told her to go back to our rooms. She can stay there if she wishes," Prouvaire said less brokenly. "I know it's odd to you, Enjolras, but I'm not turning her out. I couldn't do that to her. I'm not even going to expose her, even if I know it would clear my name."

Enjolras stared at his friend, wondering if he'd heard these words correctly. "So you will let the forgery stand? It is your name at stake."

"I'm not giving Azelma up to the law." Prouvaire argued. His normally soft voice had taken on a determined edge. "The rest of our friends are angry with her for going back on her word. I love her and I will not allow her to be hurt any further."

Enjolras was astounded; he had always known that Prouvaire was a gallant, tender soul, but this was further than he had ever seen the poet go. "It is an injustice; you will be endangering yourself, and perpetuating Citizen Duchamp's mode of business."

"Is it any worse than what can happen to Azelma if she returns to prison? I have some answer to this, I hope it will work."

"What will you do then?"

"As soon as the hour is polite, meaning midday or so, I am speaking with Citizen Duchamp," Prouvaire replied more steadily. "Azelma was not alone in that negotiation. He knew exactly what Azelma could and could not give. He must have said something to her to convince her to make the purchase."

"It would be difficult to prove that he manipulated Azelma," Enjolras noted. "It might not even be enough for exoneration."

"I'm not a lawyer like you, Courfeyrac, and Pontmercy, but I am sure that it is only I or Citizen Duchamp who can bring Azelma before a court; the bank will not necessarily dare to do it, for fear of admitting their own errors," Prouvaire said. "I want to stop Citizen Duchamp from doing anything more. He is astute; while most of us are good at the art of convincing, he is the one who plants a seed of his own ideas in person's minds and lets it take over."

Enjolras took a deep breath, wondering what to say to this extraordinary and slightly underhanded measure. "I will accompany you then. You need a witness."

"I will never be able to repay you for this," Prouvaire said. He glanced towards the staircase. "She and Eponine quarrelled rather badly,"

"That would be a very serious understatement," Enjolras pointed out.

Prouvaire swallowed hard. "I do not think Azelma truly hates Eponine, no matter what she has to say about it. A little envious perhaps, but not truly hateful."

Enjolras' curiosity was piqued at this astute observation; like him, Prouvaire was an only child. "You believe that this is the reason for all this spite?"

"They are little more than a year apart in age. It can lead to undue comparisons," Prouvaire explained. "Especially now that they are known to quite a number of people."

"Perhaps," Enjolras concurred. "She spoke with you about it?"

"Not in exact terms. What could I do? I never expected this," Prouvaire said despondently. "If it's not too much to ask, may I stay here tonight? The hour is rather late."

Enjolras nodded, understanding that Prouvaire was doing this in order to give Azelma a little peace. ' _It would help him be in a better frame of mind for the task ahead,'_ he thought as he found the key to his room. Upstairs, Prouvaire fell asleep almost immediately on the bed, leaving Enjolras to find sheets to create a makeshift pallet. As tedious as this task was, Enjolras had learned that this was probably a better idea than spending another night at his desk and waking up with a stiff neck or an aching back.

Once again, deep sleep eluded him, even after he attempted to do a little reading in hopes of tiring himself out. It did not help that his mind was a complete blank as to what he would have to say to Eponine the next time they chanced to meet. He guessed that it had to be about five in the morning when he finally gave up trying to rest, and decided it was time to ready for the day. After quickly checking the cupboards, he headed out to the nearby bakery in order to find some bread and perhaps other food supplies.

Since the hour was still rather early, a queue had yet to form at the bakery. Almost immediately, Enjolras caught sight of Eponine as she was paying for some loaves of bread and an extra piece of brioche. In the half-light of the early morning, the cut on her face stood out like an angry brand, making her already haggard mien seem startling.

She glanced his way and her lips quivered in an expression that was somewhere between a scowl and a greeting. "You're here early."

He nodded by way of acknowledgement. He was not about to be indiscreet by discussing their tiff right here in the street. "I could say the same about you."

She sighed as she handed him one of the loaves she'd bought. "I will be at the Rue de Chevert later."

Enjolras recognized right away that this was Duchamp's address. "What time do you intend to be there?" he asked, giving Eponine a grim look.

"Noon. I have to finish up work first at the Rue des Macons so there will be less to worry about later," she replied. She tightened her grip on the brioche she carried. "Will you be there too?"

"Prouvaire also intends to confront Citizen Duchamp later. A third party is needed so it does not degenerate into a situation of one man's word alone against the other," he explained as they began walking back to the tenement.

"It will be like a second in a duel?"

"A witness, actually."

"That is clever."

"It is necessary."

Eponine looked at him keenly. "I s'pose you will go right after breakfast?"

"No. We may be there at the same time," he replied.

A slight smile spread on her face. "You don't have something to say to him as well, maybe about what he tried to do at the Hotel de Ville?"

"I believe that single encounter would more than suffice, at least where his attempts concerning my work are concerned," Enjolras replied as they finally reached the now rather noisy tenement. Even from downstairs they could hear the concierge berating Gavroche and Jacques for yet another one of their shenanigans. In the kitchen, Prouvaire had taken it upon himself to try to make coffee, a feat which was not easy to accomplish while answering Neville's questions.

"How do you two and Combeferre deal with him?" Prouvaire asked his friends with fond exasperation as they set down the food they'd bought.

"With patience," Enjolras deadpanned, letting Neville climb up his arm.

"A virtue which neither of you are particularly known for?" Prouvaire quipped.

Enjolras smirked before catching Neville before he could lose his grip on his elbow. "Go upstairs and tell the others that there's breakfast already," he said, carefully setting the child back on the ground.

Neville scratched his head. "You're talking about something scary again. Jacques won't like it but Gavroche will."

"Five minutes then," he suggested, hoping that would be enough time to discuss with Eponine and Prouvaire how they intended to settle matters with Duchamp.

In the meantime Eponine quickly rescued the coffeepot before it could tip over thanks to Prouvaire's inattention. "Enjolras said you're also going to see the jeweller. Are you hoping to return that awful necklace to Citizen Duchamp and get your money back?" she asked the poet.

"It's not about the money," Prouvaire replied, shaking his head. "It was wrong of him to take advantage of Azelma that way. He said something and I will find out."

"I want to know why he let the necklace go for such a small price. The Lafontaines were ready to offer so, so much more. Even  _Citizen Paquet_  could have," Eponine pointed out.

"It is more than just him. It would also seem that Citizen Duchamp has been trying to conduct business within the Hotel de Ville," Enjolras said.

"Might he also be negotiating with some of your colleagues?" Eponine asked. "I don't know if he'd dare to do it with Jeanne or the other legislators, but maybe with some of those awful gentlemen sitting on the committees."

"It is possible," Enjolras noted. Even now he was imagining the possible turns this confrontation could take, some sensible and others more dire. "We must take care not to be misconstrued. We'll have to go there unarmed, literally," he said, taking his pocketknife and setting it down on the table.

"Even that?" Prouvaire groaned.

Enjolras nodded. "For caution's sake, to prevent being hoisted by our own petards. I'll put them in my quarters and we'll retrieve them later."

Prouvaire reached into his coat and threw down two pocketknives. Eponine sighed and brought her two pistols out of her pelisse. "What about other things like pencils? Those can poke too," she said dryly.

"We may as well keep our fists in our pockets to avoid threatening him," Enjolras replied as he gathered up the weapons and headed upstairs to his room. He carefully locked these objects in his desk and took care to keep the key in his waistcoat. When he returned downstairs, the Thenardier boys were already at the kitchen table and hassling Prouvaire, while Eponine was putting sugar in a cup of slightly burned coffee. He found his own cup of coffee already carefully set aside at his usual place at the table. It was enough for him to feel a frisson of relief.

After this hurried breakfast, the entire group parted ways: Eponine went with her brothers to the schoolhouse and then to work, Prouvaire hurried to speak with some friends at the masons' lodge, while Enjolras met with some barristers near the Sorbonne to discuss possible amendments to insert in the still unrevised penal code reforms petition. It was five minutes before noon when they met again outside the half-concealed house at the Rue de Chevert.

The shadowed opulence of the house suddenly seemed forbidding, even when the trio found Duchamp lounging in his sitting room, stretched out on a large couch. He was the perfect picture of ease in his chintz dressing gown, soft leather slippers, and a stocking cap. "Good afternoon. I've been expecting you three," he greeted amiably.

"Why would you be expecting us?" Eponine asked tersely as they all sat down.

"Did you wake up on the wrong side of the bed, Citizenness?" Duchamp quipped, casting a look from her to Enjolras. "To be honest I had expected to find at least one of you at my door last night, regardless of the hour. Citizenness Thenardier the younger looks quite ravishing in that piece, no doubt. She is proficient at haggling especially with money that was never hers to give away."

"What do you mean?" Eponine demanded.

"I hate to be the bearer of ill news, my dear, but your sister is a forger," Duchamp said, his congenial smile twisting into a sneer. "I should commend her attempt at forging Citizen Prouvaire's signature, but I did eventually spot the counterfeit."

Enjolras' eyes narrowed. "You commenced the transaction even with this knowledge?"

"It was more of a barter," Duchamp said with a smile. "You must have heard that the necklace was being sold for at least half a million. I should give that girl credit for understanding that the price was grossly exaggerated; her estimate was rather close. She's the cleverest of the women who've spoken to me about it; a worthy buyer if there ever was one. She was also kind enough to grant me a favor."

"What favour?" Eponine asked suspiciously.

"I had always thought it would be wonderful to eventually remove to Bordeaux."

Prouvaire's eyes flashed at the mention of his hometown. "What will you do there?" Prouvaire asked harshly. "What did you tell her?"

"I told her I only need a haven in my impending old age, I'm as old as her father so it might seem. She said she knew where to find one," Duchamp replied. "Perhaps this is in connection with you, Citizen Prouvaire? I also forgot to congratulate you on the success of your play-"

Prouvaire's usually calm countenance was now livid. "You  _manipulated_  her!"

"I have you where I need you to be," Duchamp said with a triumphant smile, looking from Prouvaire, then to Eponine, and lastly at Enjolras. "You have no choice but to accept my generosity at this point."

"We're not here to negotiate," Enjolras reminded him coldly.

"You have no choice," Duchamp said, looking at him. "It is the general impression that the necklace was purchased using Citizen Prouvaire's money; a truth despite the fact that it was secured from the bank through questionable means. It is that final detail which troubles me greatly. I am as anxious as you are to bring this to a quiet conclusion or settlement. I can overlook the nature of the transaction. I will let Citizenness Thenardier keep the necklace, and I will give back a hundred francs."

"You're a horrible businessman, holding yourself short that way," Eponine muttered.

"My dear, not if I have my interests secured in a petition to be passed by the legislature. It is a trifling matter of ensuring the easy traffic of gems and pieces in the customs. It can only do us all good in commerce," Duchamp said with a grin. "Otherwise I will have no choice but to reveal the matter. I am not one to engage in dishonest business."

"Your supposed good and honesty cannot be justified by bribery. This is not a government run on illicit bargains and favors," Enjolras answered, making sure to look Duchamp in the face. He knew better than to look at either Eponine or Prouvaire; this was not the moment to suddenly relent for either their sakes or Azelma's. "I will not agree to your proposition."

A cruel smile played across Duchamp's face. "Then it is true, you are heartless enough to sacrifice a heedless girl."

"He will not do such a thing," Eponine said quickly as she sat up straight. There was a determined look in her face as she met Duchamp's bemused look. "You're one but we're everyone else in Paris. We only have to tell someone we know what you said right here, and it will be all over the  _Moniteur_  and the rest of the papers. Everyone will know what you've been about."

Duchamp laughed. "The three of you have no proof. I can always deny you came here."

"Citizen Lafontaine saw you at the Hotel de Ville. It will not be difficult to find out if anyone else spoke with you, and to establish your purpose in that area. You would not be thoroughly absolved or relieved of any culpability even with the courts; you still engaged in a transaction using a forged note, and with full knowledge of the fact as well," Enjolras replied. Inasmuch as this audacious plan of making an expose was rather out of the ordinary, he understood its efficiency when it came to dealing with Duchamp, and perhaps with other potential malefactors with a penchant for bribery. ' _A trial by publicity may be the necessary here,'_ he decided.

Duchamp paled and shook his head. "I will not allow you to carry out this threat."

"It was not a threat," Eponine said firmly as she got to her feet. "You've fired your report, it is our turn. Good afternoon and goodbye to you, Citizen."

' _It is more of a warning,'_ Enjolras thought, an idea which was confirmed by Duchamp's furious expression as he summoned his manservant. He could not hear what Duchamp said to his valet, but judging by the servant's hurried exit, it had to be an urgent errand. It was the perfect opportunity for the young people to finally take their leave and head back outside.

Prouvaire's expression was one of amazement as they exited the Rue de Chevert. "It seems as if you have as good as beheaded a serpent," he remarked to Eponine.

"Or at least made him hide his head," Enjolras pointed out. "This expose has to be done right away though, before he can file charges of any sort."

Eponine bit her lip before looking at him. "Do you s'pose that the other legislators and the committee members will be at the Hotel de Ville today?"

"It is likely. The reports from the first hearings are due to be released today," Enjolras replied.

"Ah, that is good then. I'm to meet Leonor and some of the others later," Eponine said. "It's not quite one in the afternoon, is it?"

Prouvaire checked his pocket watch. "It's only half past twelve." He sighed deeply as he looked at his friends. "I should go back to my apartment, maybe see if Azelma is awake."

"Are you sure about that?" Enjolras asked.

"I know I have to face up to matters with her, regardless of the outcome," Prouvaire said, his tone turning melancholy. "The best of luck with your committee reports."

"And to you as well!" Eponine said before Prouvaire walked off down the street. She looked at Enjolras intently, as if trying to decide what to say. "You were trying to do the right thing," she finally said. "I s'pose it is necessary too."

"You also have a responsibility to your sister," he admitted. He reached for her hand and much to his relief she did not pull away. "You caught Citizen Duchamp off guard with that plan of yours."

She smiled as she clasped his wrist. "You gave him quite the fright too."

"I only had to point out something he had forgotten," Enjolras replied more easily.

"You can be so terrible sometimes, Antoine," she teased as she grasped his arms, leading him into the nearest alley. The way she said his name made him shiver; despite his mental reservations about sneaking off in this manner, he was willing to take any form of discussion with her especially after such a terse morning.

As soon as they were in the shadow of a doorway, she reached up to kiss his jaw but he placed a hand on her cheek, carefully avoiding the cut there. Their lips met, first tentatively till she whimpered and pulled him even closer, giving him no choice but to back her up against the doorjamb as she deepened their kiss. He groaned as he felt her press her body against his, almost like the night when she'd fallen asleep in his bed; every curve of her seemed to fit so well against the harder angles and planes of his own form. The smoothness of her mouth was almost addictive, making him feel as if his blood was on fire. He placed one hand at the small of her back to hold her close even as he broke their kiss in order to catch his breath. "Eponine, what was that for?" he asked in her ear.

"Thanking you for what you said," she replied, smiling brightly.

He nodded, knowing that she'd finally forgiven him. "Are you going back to the Stendhals?"

She ran her hands through his hair, twisting some strands between her fingers. "If I finish my work there early, I'll have to start writing. I'll be at the Hotel de Ville at three," she said. "And you?"

"I'll have to be there soon," he replied. "Later then?"

"Of course," she said, reluctantly letting go of him. She cocked her head as if listening for something outside the alley. "You'd better leave first. I think I hear an omnibus."

Enjolras looked over his shoulder and saw an omnibus approaching the nearby street corner. "You will be fine here then?"

"It's not a long walk. Now go or you'll miss it!" Eponine laughed, pushing him away playfully. "You'd better watch your cravat too."

Enjolras smirked on realizing that somehow his cravat had gotten askew during their interlude. ' _Cheeky as always,'_ he thought before boarding the omnibus. Despite the awkwardness of the situation, he had to admit that it was more than a relief to be able to speak with her so freely again.

When he arrived at the Hotel de Ville, he already found a whole stack of papers at his desk. On top of the entire mess was the committee report. The sight of Paquet's handwriting covering the heading was enough to make him frown. ' _He was only too glad to note it,'_ Enjolras thought as he reviewed the scathing comments on the petition. Every provision had been taken apart for the slightest reasons ranging from a turn of phrase to criticisms such as the ideas being 'impractical' or 'ridiculous'. Yet even at the end of the report, the young man couldn't help but feel as if something was rather lacking in the entire proceeding. ' _I should ask him to substantiate it,'_ he decided before carefully rereading the report, this time noting down the changes that he could work on more immediately.

He was not sure how much time had passed by the time he had finished this as well as some other paperwork, but by the time the crick in his neck grew too much to handle, he could hear more footsteps and talk outside his office. He got up from his desk to investigate, and found none other than Rossi conversing with a clerk. "Rossi, have you got a moment?" Enjolras asked.

Rossi started before realizing who'd spoken to him. "How long have you been at work?" he asked once he'd calmed down.

"Quite some time," Enjolras said, motioning for his friend to step into his office. "Have you gotten your own committee report back yet?"

"You mean the remains of my work. My petition is a corpse," Rossi muttered. "And yours?"

"In need of repair," Enjolras replied, putting his committee report aside. "That is not my present question though."

"Is this about the Duchamp affair and that necklace that Azelma Thenardier has?" Rossi asked. "It's been quite the topic today."

"What have they been saying?"

"Mostly wondering how that could have happened; the jeweller has been making all sorts of offers here at the Hotel de Ville, so it may seem," Rossi said. "What does he think this place is, La Chaumiere?"

Enjolras frowned at this reference to a house known for its opulence during the days of the Directory. "Has he given any petition to anyone?"

"Not yet. He did mention something about the customs bureau; I told him to go take that inquiry to the proper office," Rossi said.

"I see."

"There is trouble about, I take it? His shadow is poisoning the halls."

"It might seem to some," Enjolras said. "I'm sorry to interrupt your chat, Rossi."

"Oh no matter; I was only telling that fellow to please keep from commenting too much on that ladies' initiative," Rossi said. "There are journalists about; the story has it that the report is very unfavourable. That was already half-expected, unfortunately for them. I doubt it will prosper."

"That is, if you forget to take their tenacity into account."

"Especially those of the principal authors."

Before Enjolras could comment on this, he heard the telltale hubbub of women conversing loudly in the corridor; Citizenness Legendre's loud voice rose over this din, cursing the committee vehemently. Rossi paled noticeably at this sound. "Is unfavourable an understatement?"

"It might be," Enjolras said. ' _The report might even be a sort of joke,'_ he thought as he and Rossi stepped out into the hallway to speak with Leonor, who'd broken away from the rest of the group.

"They're being such geese," Leonor fumed when she saw the men. "They want to storm the committee chamber instead of thinking this over."

"The frustration is understandable. What exactly did the report contain?" Enjolras asked.

"Was it even a report?" Leonor said sarcastically. She looked over her shoulder towards where Eponine had just arrived, and was now perusing a folder. "Now she's in for a disappointment," she whispered before going off to speak with her friend.

Rossi gestured to the women. "Won't you go to her?"

"Not just yet," Enjolras said. He did not have to wait long though; after a few minutes Eponine handed the folder to Leonor and discreetly went over to where Enjolras was. "What did they say?" he asked her by way of greeting.

Eponine sighed exasperatedly before looking over her shoulder towards where her friends were still haranguing each other. "I need to borrow your law books. Tonight. You promised after all."

"That I did. I'll let you have your pick of them later," he said.

"Law books? You do not mean..." Rossi trailed off.

Eponine shrugged at him. "I need to make that petition more presentable, so they'll even want to read it," she explained.

"A woman reading the law, what on earth will come next?" Rossi groaned.

"Actually having one passed, I s'pose," Eponine said.

It was at that moment that Enjolras realized that the hallway was suddenly silent; the women had broken off their conversation, and were now looking towards someone standing a little way off. Enjolras blinked, recognizing this man as an agent of the Prefecture. "Citizen, may we help you?" he asked this young inspector.

The inspector came forward nervously; his raven hair was shiny with sweat under his hat. "I am not sure you know me, Citizen Enjolras. I am Thierry Perrot, a cousin of a friend of yours."

"Therese Perrot?" Eponine asked.

"Yes her," the inspector said. He looked down, unable to meet Eponine's gaze. "You both have to come with me immediately. And be discreet about it."

"Why so?" Enjolras asked.

Inspector Perrot swallowed hard. "You're being investigated regarding Gustave Paquet. He was found dead this morning, at the Odeon."


	60. Chapter 60: The Audacity of a Thenardier

_A/N: I can't find many good drinking songs, so I've only chosen to use translated snatches of these two:_ _**Il est des nôtres,** _ _and_ _**Fanchon** _ _(the second one gets altered a little by the Thenardier siblings)._

**Chapter 60: The Audacity of a Thenardier**

The first thing that irritated Eponine about being taken to Saint-Lazare was the fact that she had spent the journey there in particularly ill-fitting handcuffs. "These will leave marks," she complained to the guard who'd escorted her to a tiny room in the prison's main building.

"The better to remind you to stay out of trouble, Citizenness," the guard snapped, practically shoving her into a rickety chair before releasing her wrists from their bonds. "Though you won't need that reminder for a long while."

Eponine glared as she sat up straight. "I'm leaving right away. We didn't do it."

"We'll see what the Prefect thinks. You behave yourself and keep quiet if you want a chance of that," the guard said before stepping out of the room and slamming the door shut.

' _At least this isn't a cell,'_ Eponine thought as she looked around the bare cubicle; aside from her seat the only other items present were a half-rotted away table, a sturdier chair, and a lamp. The air was thick with the cloying odor of mildew and the distinct reek of unwashed persons. After all there was no shortage of the latter within this prison compound. Eponine was a little thankful that the light was rather dim; it spared her the horror of seeing what detritus was scattered on the floor. ' _No wonder Maman couldn't stand a place like this,'_ she realized with a shudder, slipping her hands into the now empty pockets of her pelisse; she'd been searched before being shoved into this rat hole. The memory of her mother was enough to bring a stinging feeling to Eponine's eyes. Mme. Thenardier had ended her days within the confines of the Prison Saint-Lazare; the mere idea of meeting the same fate was not something that Eponine even wanted to contemplate.

Before she could completely banish this thought, the cubicle door creaked open to admit a lean looking man dressed in a rather rumpled greatcoat that was rolled up to the elbows. He carried with him a slightly yellowed but thin portfolio. This newcomer eased himself into the other chair before opening the portfolio. His eyes were hooded as he looked at the young woman. "According to this record here, your name is Eponine Thenardier," he said without preamble.

She crossed her arms. "It is. Did someone write it down wrong or something?"

The inspector raised an eyebrow. "Age?"

"Seventeen. Just one month lacking of eighteen."

"Ah, and your records say you live at the neighbourhood of the Rue Petit-Banquier-"

Eponine shook her head. "Not that horrible place. I've been living at the Rue Jean-Jacques Rousseau for some months now."

"Occupation-assuming you have a proper one to speak of," the inspector sneered.

"I do copying and some paperwork at the Stendhals' house. That's at the Rue des Macons. You can ask Citizenness Stendhal herself," Eponine replied more haughtily. It irritated her to no end that she was being questioned like she was some common criminal again. ' _Which is still perhaps what some of these police think,'_ she reminded herself.

As if in confirmation of this, the inspector opened the portfolio and read through the papers hastily stuffed in there. "This says that you were involved a year ago in a robbery at the Gorbeau Tenement..."

"It was a stupid ambuscade. I wasn't in the house when it happened," Eponine retorted. "You're reading it, why are you asking me about it."

"A matter of course," the inspector said, throwing down the portfolio. "Now you know you are being investigated regarding the murder of Citizen Paquet. How are you acquainted with him?"

Eponine rolled her eyes. "I've spoken with him but I can't say we were acquaintances if he didn't like me very much."

The inspector gritted his teeth. "Were you or were you not at the Odeon last night?"

"Yes of course."

"Were you accompanied by anyone?"

"I was with my friends."

The inspector glared at her. "Was Citizen Enjolras with you?"

"He was," Eponine replied tersely. "You've taken him to La Force, haven't you? He didn't do it either, I can tell you that."

"Well that is not part of my questioning," the inspector said in a clipped tone. "Did you see or meet with Citizen Paquet at the theater?"

"I didn't even know he was there," Eponine said. "Aren't you going to ask who else I was with?"

"That is an irrelevant question, Citizenness."

"I thought you'd like to know something useful."

"I'm the one doing the questioning," the interrogator snapped. "When did you and Citizen Enjolras leave the Odeon?"

"As soon as the play was over," Eponine replied, biting the inside of her cheek at the bitter memories of the night before. "It's not as if we could be up to anything else."

"Really now?" he asked, scratching his belly. "Where were you then this morning, at nine?"

Eponine had to hold back a laugh, already guessing where this question was leading up to. "Was that when you found Citizen Paquet?"

He slammed down his pen. "Let me remind you again that I'm the one conducting the investigation!"

"I'd like to know more of what you called me in for," she groused, clenching her good hand into a fist. "I'm not some silly you can simply pull a story out from."

"Insolent girl!" the interrogator hissed. He looked through the portfolio brusquely. "This file says that you actually have the  _audacity_  to carry weapons?"

Eponine's eyes widened at this query. How did the police know? She swallowed hard as she looked at the man. "You mean my two pistols? I haven't used them."

He sneered at her again. "They weren't on your person when you were searched upon arriving here. Where did you dispose of them?"

"I didn't dispose of them, what kind of a silly do you think I am to do that?" she retorted acridly. "I had to make a visit so I left them at home."

"Where at home?" the inspector demanded.

"Upstairs, in a room," Eponine said, biting her lip at the end of this statement

The interrogator huffed suspiciously. "You visited where?"

"Citizen Duchamp, at the Rue de Chevert."

"To make him another mark, more likely."

"I'm respectable now; I'd like you to know!"

"You, the daughter of a thieving innkeeper?"

Eponine gritted her teeth. "I s'pose it doesn't say in that folder of yours that I've been up to something different, this time without my father having a hand in it."

"Yes, becoming a woman of the public!" the interrogator scoffed.

She could feel a hot fury in her chest but she bit her lip to keep from lashing out. "I'm political if that is what you mean. As for the other thing you are talking about, well I'm not that!"

He laughed and shook his head. "Women do not have a place in the Hotel de Ville. Unless you  _ladies_  now intend to run the department of favors?"

"Is that all what you sillies think we're good for?" Eponine shot back. "There's no need to sneak about so if there's a proper way to get things done like in an assembly."

"A woman may as well take to the stage if she is going to expose herself in such a manner. It is nowhere near delicate or even  _fitting_."

"You can shout and storm at your wives and daughters when you're home, you may even raise your fist when you feel like it, but you say we're far too delicate to talk of things like politics? What sort of silly thinking is that?" She laughed at the interrogator's stupefied expression. "I s'pose I ought to ask who's more afraid after all!"

"I've had enough of this," the inspector growled as he gathered up the folder. He shook his head and glowered at Eponine. "You think you can argue with the law enforcement, but your antics have just given me the problem of finding you a cell for the night."

"You can't keep me here! There's no evidence," Eponine hissed, getting to her feet to grab him. "No knife, no gun, nothing! You just found a body at the theater this morning and you never said who's been telling everyone that Enjolras and I did it!"

"Who taught you that, him, or your other lawyer friends?" the inspector taunted.

' _Not having enough evidence was how I got to leave the last time,'_ she thought as she shook her head. "You said I'm a daughter of a thief. I know what happens to a thief when he's caught in a place like this," she seethed.

"Let's see what the Prefect thinks of that cheek, Citizenness," the inspector said coldly, shoving her into the table. "Don't try any tricks; there are guards between here and the gate. Good evening to you."

Eponine would have spat at such feigned civility if the man had not backed out of the room quickly and locked the door. She wanted to scream, but hearing the laughter of women from the hallway and even the rooms around and above her made her bite her lip so hard that she tasted blood. ' _I'm not going to give them that,'_ she resolved. The humiliation of being arrested at the Hotel de Ville made her shake all over; even if Perrot had tried his best to be discreet and civil for her sake and for Enjolras', the matter was impossible to conceal.

She sat down again, now holding her fist to her mouth to hide any sound of despair she might make.  _'My brothers will walk home, but what will they do if they hear about what happened?'_ she wondered. She didn't even want to imagine the look on Jacques' face if and when the news would come to the Rue Jean Jacques Rousseau. Would she be able to see her brothers any time soon? Who would look out for them? She buried her face in her hands as a memory came to mind, that of Jacques trying to cover Enjolras' eyes some evenings ago. ' _He'd better be giving the police at La Force a hard time too,'_ she thought, feeling a sense of twisted glee as she imagined Enjolras arguing an interrogator into silence. It was just as good as remembering how he'd been unusually passionate with her that afternoon in the alley.

After a while she could feel pinpricks in her legs from sitting too long, so she began to pace the room, all the while listening for footsteps, voices or any sign of someone approaching to let her out. Oddly enough she could hear what sounded like a hullaballoo of shouts and catcalls, but from far away, perhaps from outside the prison. Eventually even eavesdropping grew too exhausting and she sat back down, all too ready to let sleep claim her. She had only just shut her eyes when she heard the door grate open, nearly making her ears ache.

"Citizenness Thenardier!" a guard shouted. "The Prefect says you're free to go."

Eponine slowly got to her feet, feeling the beginnings of a crick in her neck. "I am?"

"You've caused a stir enough. Now go before he changes his mind," the guard said, throwing down her personal effects: her notebook, a pencil, a small pouch of money, some folded sheets of paper, as well as her hat, and her gloves.

Eponine quickly stuffed these items into her pockets, taking especial care with the folded papers. "What time is it now?" she asked, donning her bonnet hastily.

"Past six in the evening."

"Already?" The thought of having wasted close to three hours in a useless questioning was dismaying, if not downright irritating; for the first time the sight of the early evening twilight was anything but comforting. However all of this dissipated into sheer relief the moment she reached the prison yard and saw who was waiting at the gate. "Combeferre!"

The physician grinned with relief before turning to call over his shoulder. "She's out!" He gallantly took her arm to steady her as she stepped out of the gate. "Bossuet, Blanchard, and Marthe are here. So is Leonor. She's the one who sent word to me and Claudine at Picpus. She also gave the petition and the committee report to Claudine for safekeeping."

Eponine nodded, trying to take this all in. "How did the rest know?"

"Courfeyrac rushed to the Palais de Justice," Blanchard explained, walking up with Bossuet and Marthe in tow. He looked at Eponine concernedly. "You weren't maltreated in there, I hope?"

"I've been handled worse," Eponine replied. "I don't know about Enjolras..."

"He's already out of La Force," Combeferre said. His expression was grave as he brought a folded, unsealed note out of his coat pocket and handed it to Eponine. "He said you'd understand the matter, though I was on the point of dragging him here to explain it to you face to face."

Eponine felt her breath catch as she unfolded the missive. The letter was evidently written in haste and torn out of a pocketbook, judging by the slightly jagged edge of the paper.

_Eponine,_

_Hopefully this letter finds you well, and away from Saint-Lazare. It is clear that we have both been framed. I know I should detail this to you in person, but I have to go to the Place du Pantheon immediately. There is trouble breaking out, which I have to address right away. There may be answers too to our questions._

_Combeferre will make sure this letter gets into Saint-Lazare properly. Other friends are also on the way to assist you._

_I'll see you later._

_A. Enjolras_

"It's an explanation enough," Eponine said, carefully folding up the note and hiding it in her pelisse. "How is he though? Is he well?"

"I think the question of being well is more applicable to the poor soul who had to interrogate him," Bossuet quipped.

Eponine rolled her eyes knowingly. "I s'pose that means I should see to urgent business of my own too."

"Which is?" Blanchard asked.

"Telling that horrible Citizen Duchamp exactly what I think of his business," Eponine said.

Marthe regarded her nervously. "What are you going to do?"

"Head to the presses."

"Have you got proof? If you're not careful, you could be facing a case of slander," Blanchard warned.

"I wrote it down," Eponine replied. It was all she could do to keep from pulling out the papers she had in her pelisse. She noticed at that moment the familiar form of Leonor hurrying in their direction. "Leonor, where did you go?" she asked by way of greeting.

Leonor nearly doubled over to catch her breath, and would have fallen down if Marthe hadn't steadied her. "Explaining things to Legendre and the rest," she said between gasps. "You should have seen the crowd that was here before I left."

"A crowd?" Eponine asked.

"Spectators and speculators," Combeferre explained. "Though the real trouble was at La Force. It seems as if you were meant to be arrested publicly."

"I s'pose so," Eponine mused. "At this hour, could the correspondents still take a look at a piece?"

"Most journalists stop for an hour or two at the new Cafe du Foy at the Palais Royal," Leonor replied, now less red in the face. "Anyone who wants a story written up can visit there and find a willing pen or two. Coutard is there for sure."

"Grantaire has mentioned that place. He's busy today though, so I doubt he'll be there," Bossuet remarked. "The liquor is reasonable at least, but the coffee is as good as ever."

' _For loosening tongues, no doubt,'_ Eponine mused. In a few moments the group split up; Blanchard headed to the Place du Pantheon, Combeferre returned to Picpus, Leonor rushed back to her errands, while Eponine, Bossuet, and Marthe made their way to the Cafe du Foy.

The refurbished Cafe du Foy's biggest resemblance to its predecessor was only in nomenclature. The grand establishment that had seen Desmoulins' passionate speech in 1789 had taken on the appearance of a much more modest salon combined with the uproar and billiards so characteristic of the cafes in the Latin Quartier. This was a place of alcoves and small galleries, perfect for interviews or even the mere exchange of gossip. Although it was still early in the evening, these little nooks were already full, forcing patrons to congregate around tables place in the main front room, or even at the doorway.

Marthe frowned on seeing this state of merry uproar. "Can we be sure of finding your friends here?" she asked Eponine and Bossuet as they found a table and ordered some wine.

"If not them, then someone else helpful," Eponine replied, feeling her eyes water at the sting of tobacco smoke in the air. She bit her lip on seeing how crowded the front room was; there was almost no space for the servers to move about as they balanced trays of coffee, pastries, and various spirits. Some men were playing cards in various corners, while others had started up a game of billiards. She smirked on hearing someone singing a crude drinking tune, one that she had heard as a little girl in Montfermeil.

Bossuet hummed as he looked around the room. "There's Coutard over there, but quite unfortunately engaged," he said, gesturing to an alcove.

Eponine sighed exasperatedly at the sight of their friend in a heated sort of debate with some other pamphleteers. "Nix that then! He's not leaving it any time soon," she muttered. There were other acquaintances of hers in the room but there were only a handful she knew to be credible  _and_  able to vouch for her, Enjolras, Prouvaire and their friends. ' _Then there are those who'd do it only if I could pay them handsomely,'_ she thought, feeling embarrassed at only having brought enough money for a single drink, maybe for some bread too if she was lucky.

Suddenly an uproarious laugh came from the doorway, and the trio turned to see Grantaire trooping in with a group of other journalists. Bossuet got to his feet and whistled loudly. "Capital R!"

Grantaire wheeled around and his eyes widened on seeing who was with Bossuet. "How brazen! How have you managed to avoid causing a stir?" he asked bemusedly as he hurried up to join them.

"I s'pose it's the drab clothing," Eponine replied dryly. If she doffed her bonnet at that moment, she knew that her reddish-brown hair would give her away, and then there would probably be no end of questioning regarding the events at the Hotel de Ville.

"Not exactly Hades' helm to grant you invisibility," Grantaire pointed out.

"They hardly look like gorgons here anyway," Eponine retorted.

"Are those the ones that turn people to stone? They may as well be," Marthe pointed out. "What's the word on the street?"

"Wild and wilder, unfortunately. Talk that this was all about Enjolras trying to gain leadership in the  _Radicaux_  party," Grantaire replied. "A dire repeat of Robespierre versus Danton."

"I wouldn't put Paquet and Danton in the same league," Marthe scoffed. "Danton was a leader in his own right, Paquet is a mere conniver."

Eponine brought the folded papers out of her pelisse. "Grantaire, what do you think of this? Can you possibly have it run the next day?" she asked.

"What is this?"

"A sketch of sorts, about that Citizen Duchamp's mischief. He was a fool enough to make a silly offer to Enjolras while Prouvaire and I were around."

Grantaire laughed with delight as he read through the article. "A perfect snare! I'm not in charge of this sort of work; I do commentaries, but perhaps one of my comrades..." he trailed off, craning his neck to look around the room. He shook his head. "Tardy. Your man for this Herculean task is Coutard, but he is barricaded in."

' _I haven't the time for this,'_ Eponine thought, now looking around for another person who could help her out. It was at that moment she caught sight of two figures, a tall man and a boy in a familiar oversized coat. The boy turned to look at her and burst out grinning. "Bahorel, look who's here!"

"Gavroche!" Eponine hissed, motioning for him to lower his voice. "Bahorel, why did you bring my brother here?"

"I need a partner for my investigation," Bahorel said. "Those fools should have waited for you and Enjolras to arrive home. Therese had a sharp word with her cousin about it."

"No, Inspector Perrot was one of the best of the lot," Eponine said.

Bahorel nodded with relief. "So I take you haven't been down to the Place du Pantheon yet? There's talk that Paquet was investigating Duchamp."

"Investigating! What for?" Marthe exclaimed.

"Turning stones into paper," Gavroche quipped gleefully. "The jeweller has been trying to pull at the legislators and the committees like they are puppets."

"Of course Paquet suspected that Duchamp bought four out of five of the representatives to the legislature," Bahorel deadpanned.

"What exactly happened to Paquet anyway?" Bossuet asked, cracking his knuckles. "Everyone is saying that he was simply found dead."

Bahorel motioned for the group to huddle closer. "Tied, gagged, shot three times, stabbed twice as many. He was found in an alley near the theater. Of course people think he was assaulted there, but the morgue may as well find that the fight unfolded earlier."

"You mean he was killed and  _then_  dragged there?" Grantaire asked.

"And robbed. All his effects are missing."

"Then it could have been anyone!" Eponine exclaimed.

"Yes but it's no secret who he's been at odds with the most, and who carries the weapons most appropriate for the deed," Bahorel pointed out. "You didn't have your pistols..."

"Enjolras locked up all the dangerous items in his drawer," Gavroche chimed in. "I heard him."

"What for?" Bossuet asked.

Eponine sighed before explaining what had transpired earlier that morning. "I s'pose he never thought it would serve a different sort of purpose," she finished over the sound of uproarious laughter from the billiards table.

Gavroche looked at her then towards where Coutard was still in his alcove. "We came to talk to him," he said. "We need to steal him from there."

"The biggest theft yet?" Eponine asked. A slightly ribald song had started up in the cafe, judging by the way Marthe had blushed deeply and was hiding her face in her handkerchief much to the laughter of the young men.  _'And gulp and gulp, and gulp...'_  Eponine hummed along, getting to her feet to try to get a better view of the place.

A laugh and some applause came from a nearby table. "Look who's broken the ban of Saint-Lazare!" a young clerk shouted.

"A fine escape by the youngest lady of the Hotel de Ville!" an older correspondent hooted, raising his tumbler of brandy. "A cause for a celebration!"

' _Raise your glass and above all don't spill anything!'_ someone else sang, holding up a glass of wine in Eponine's general direction.

"Eponine, what are you doing?" Marthe hissed, rather aghast.

"I'm not sure!" Eponine whispered with a mischievous grin as she climbed onto a chair. ' _And put it from your forehead to your nose, to your chin, to your belly-'_ she sang loudly as she mimed upending a glass on Gavroche's head.

"To your gob!" Gavroche shouted in mock indignation.

' _And gulp and gulp, and gulp!'_ Bossuet, Bahorel, and Grantaire continued, raising the wine glasses on the table.

"She's no drunkard though, hardly one of us!" Gavroche bawled, trying to make himself heard. "But she's drunk the Republic's wine like the rest of us, you can see it in her face—"

"Oh hush!" Eponine shouted.

' _Friends we must have a break, I'm seeing the shadow of a skittle!'_ a drunken editor shouted, miming with his hands the shape of a woman.

' _Let's drink for the lovely Fanchon, let's sing something for her-'Eponine_  sang, trying to recall the lyrics to this old tune.

' _Ah how sweet is her company, how much glory and merit she deserves!'_ Bahorel sang heartily, tapping the table in time with the tune.

' _She likes to sing, she likes to drink—'Eponine_  continued as she leapt off her perch and dashed up to a server to steal a half-full glass. More people, even one or two of the few grisettes present, were singing along. Eponine smirked when she realized she'd grabbed a glass of sugared water, but she raised it in the air anyway. ' _She likes to sing like us, yes like us, like us!'_

' _Fanchon, though a good Christian, was baptised with wine. An innkeeper was her Christian father—"_ Gavroche crowed.

"What!" Eponine laughed. " _A soldier's wife was her Christian mother-"_ she shot back amid the guffaws from the nearest alcoves. ' _Yet oh, how sweet is her company—'_ she continued, this time hearing more people join in the merry refrain. Some patrons were emerging from alcoves, others were banging their tankards and glasses on the tables, and an elderly musician had found a Spanish guitar to accompany this song. The conversation in Coutard's corner had ceased, and the ginger-haired journalist was already adding his accented voice to the din.

' _She likes to sing like us, she likes to laugh, she likes to drink!'_ Bossuet sang, pulling Marthe out of her chair to dance with her, earning some catcalls from a nearby table.

' _Like us, like us!'_ more men shouted, laughing when Grantaire rushed up to pull Coutard out of his chair even as more people began to dance. .

' _Fanchon reveals herself to be cruel-_ ' Eponine sang at the moment she felt someone yank her purse from her pelisse. She cursed when she saw Gavroche racing away with the pouch, jumping over tables and nearly upsetting a chair. "Come back here!" she shouted, chasing after him.

Gavroche stuck his tongue out at her. "Cruel and short-legged!"

"Imp!" she called, clambering over a table that happened to be near the door. ' _She only gets courted to get drunk with—'_  she sang loudly over the sound of the cafe door suddenly swinging open. She stopped in her tracks on catching sight of a pair of piercing blue eyes, now wide with a look of pure astonishment. "Enjolras!"

Enjolras gave her a nod of acknowledgement as he stepped forward to help her off the table. "Good evening, Citizenness Thenardier."

"To you as well, Citizen Enjolras," she answered, feeling already the blood rising to her face, even as far as her hairline. She took his proffered hand but did not dare to meet his eyes. Although people were still singing loudly she was so sure that they had amused, shocked, and even malicious eyes watching them. "I wasn't expecting to find you here..."

"Nor was I, but I did say I'd see you later," Enjolras said dryly, his face taking on for a moment an expression that was just almost teasing.

By this time Bahorel, Bossuet, and even Gavroche were howling with laughter. "Extraordinary timing!" Bossuet shouted.

Enjolras merely raised an eyebrow, a moment before his eyes narrowed as he seemed to be looking past Eponine. "Don't let that man leave this room," he muttered under his breath.

Eponine turned and saw a large fellow in a black cap pushing past a musician, nearly shoving him into a counter. "Grantaire, Coutard, the back door!" she shouted, gesturing to the furthest passage. She saw this man flee towards a side exit, so she shoved a chair into this unknown's path in order to stop him while she ran to this door, which Gavroche was already blocking. The stranger cursed and threw the chair aside before lunging at her and Gavroche, one hand clutching a dagger. Eponine dropped to the floor, pulling her brother with her and letting their assailant drive the blade into the door behind them. She took the opportunity to drive her foot into the back of his right knee, sending him to the floor. In a second, Bahorel and another journalist had tackled him and pinioned his arms behind his back. Gavroche sat on this man for good measure.

Enjolras ran to this scene. "Eponine, did he-"

She shook her head as she got to her feet. "Not a scratch, not on me or him," she said, gesturing to her brother. She pulled the knife out of where it had sunk into the woodwork and handed it to Enjolras.

He set the knife down on a table, out of the assailant's reach. "The man we have here is Citizen Bellanger," he informed Bahorel.

Bahorel cursed before tying up Bellanger's hands with a length of rope that someone handed to them. "Where is your employer?" he barked.

Bellanger spat at him. "I am not in his pay anymore."

"As of this afternoon, most likely," Enjolras pointed out.

Coutard and Grantaire rushed up, looking rather aghast. "So he was here all along! There's been some sort of warrant out for him," Coutard said, looking at Bahorel.

"I didn't expect to find him here; I was stopping by to look for information to help me in my search," Bahorel admitted. He got to his feet and dusted off his hands. "Citizen Bellanger, you've walked into your own arrest for the murder of Citizen Paquet, as well as for assisting a fugitive," he said to the unfortunate on the floor.

Bellanger's face twisted in a mocking sneer. "You'll never find Citizen Duchamp. He is far off by now."

Enjolras shook his head. "There is a warrant out for him too."

"On whose word?" Coutard asked, astonished.

Enjolras' look was grim, almost remorseful. "Citizen Paquet's belated testimony. His papers were found half-burned at the Rue de Chevert."

The entire mystery left Eponine at a loss for all commentary, even after Bahorel had dragged Bellanger off the premises and down to the nearest station house. "Will this still be necessary?" she asked at length, bringing out the article she'd written. "It's about Citizen Duchamp's schemes. I intended to have it run in some newspaper," she explained to Coutard, the only one in the group who was not aware of the expose.

"In support of poor Citizen Paquet's testimony?" Coutard asked.

"Not entirely. It's a more independent matter."

The journalist nodded before quickly reviewing the article. "I'll try to see if I can have it squeezed into the run for tomorrow. If only you'd sent this in to me before sundown."

"It wasn't possible, being in Saint-Lazare and all," Eponine said. ' _Was that what the entire prison stay was all about? Just a mere delay?'_ she wondered worriedly even as she thanked Coutard, who then took his leave. She looked keenly at Enjolras, who was now seated with Grantaire, Bossuet, Marthe, and Gavroche. "What happened at La Force?" she asked.

"I merely stated the reasons why the charges against us could not stand," Enjolras deadpanned.

"Stated? Knowing you..." Grantaire laughed before taking a hearty swig of water. "You served as the attorney, no doubt."

"It was only an investigation," Enjolras said.

"What I want to know is how  _Eponine_  got herself out of prison," Marthe said bemusedly. "My cousin was just about ready to go in and ask to represent her, but she herself walked out."

"I would have been there for a night, but I s'pose they didn't have the evidence for it. I did tell them so," Eponine replied.

"A very valid argument," Enjolras pointed out proudly.

Bossuet gaped at the duo. "Are your interrogators still alive? I imagine the agents on duty this afternoon would be drawing lots as to who'd question the two of you."

Enjolras shrugged before taking a sip of water. "The endpoint was that the charges were discarded."

"Then how did the charge come against Duchamp and his valet?" Marthe asked.

"We have Prouvaire to thank for that," Enjolras said proudly. "He doubled back to the Rue de Chevert; for a reason he has yet to explain, but this time he brought an agent with him, who found the papers and perhaps more. From there on, the matter was in the hands of the police."

' _Did he do it for my sister?'_ Eponine wondered, shaking her head with disbelief. If that was the case, did Azelma even know? At any rate, the matter was as good as avenged, even if she was not sure if Azelma and Prouvaire would ever set things to right between them. ' _I can't interfere this time,'_ she resolved, before turning her attention to the various inane and grisly punishments that their group was thinking up for Duchamp. After sharing a light dinner, Marthe and Bossuet decided to set off for the Marais, and then Grantaire excused himself to speak with some colleagues. Only then did Enjolras, Eponine, and Gavroche head back to the Rue Jean Jacques Rousseau.

Joly and Musichetta were waiting in the front room. Joly was anxiously reading while Musichetta was sound asleep in a chair. Various packages and bundles were strewn around their feet. "We thought that someone would need to watch the younger boys. They're asleep upstairs," Joly greeted concernedly. "How are you two?"

"No worse for wear," Enjolras replied. "It seems as if the matter is almost cleared up."

"Almost? What else is left?"

"Actually catching the suspect."

The doctor's eyes widened. "At least you both left prison before you could ruin your health." He set aside his book and went to shake Musichetta awake.

In the meantime Eponine was taking off her hat and her pelisse when she heard a soft step on the stairs. She sighed, realizing who hadn't been sleeping after all. "Jacques..." she chided before she suddenly saw her youngest brother run down the stairs.

"You shouldn't be awake,  _petit_ ," Enjolras said to the boy.

"Why are you and Ponine so late?" Jacques asked, trying to climb up into his arms.

' _We can't tell him,'_ Eponine decided even as she saw Jacques cling on to Enjolras as if for dear life. "It's a very long story. Too long," she said, giving Gavroche a warning look.

Gavroche merely shrugged. "He'll ask someday."

"Not tonight, please," Eponine said. She didn't want to explain the entire sordid scenario to Jacques, knowing it would only frighten him, or at least confuse him greatly. ' _Almost as much as the law books I want to borrow,'_ she thought.

Meanwhile Musichetta stretched in her seat and rubbed her eyes. "I knew you'd be home by evening. There was no way you'd stand for otherwise."

"I had hoped to be back earlier," Eponine deadpanned.

"To work on that petition?" Musichetta asked. She gestured to the bundles around her. "I have time tomorrow since the shopping is done. I can help you out now."

"I have to go to Picpus. Leonor brought the papers to Claudine," Eponine explained, feeling a little relieved to take the topic away from her involuntary trip to the prison. "After work then?"

"It's my half-holiday, I can meet you earlier," Musichetta said. She sighed at her friend. "You're quite a sight; you've had a bad two days. You should get some rest. I'll see you no earlier than two in the afternoon then."

"I s'pose so." The truth was that every fiber of her ached to just lie down and not get up for the next few hours, even the next day if that was possible. "Thank you Chetta."

"We  _all_  need some rest. Even you, Enjolras," Joly said, giving his friend a stern look with the last part of this statement.

"Naturally. But first your packages?" Enjolras asked, pointing to all the items that Joly and Musichetta had bought. "You need help getting them into a fiacre."

"Come on Gavroche, time to get you and Jacques upstairs," Eponine said to her brother. "I'll take care of him," she added, gently taking Jacques from Enjolras. Although Jacques was half-asleep, he still managed to hold on to her tightly, giving Eponine no choice but to carry him all the way up to their apartment. Much to her chagrin, she found a candle still lit and even heard the sheets rustling as she entered, and had thought to scold Gavroche till she saw he'd fallen asleep with all his clothes on. She noticed Neville's hand push a book out of the bed he shared with Gavroche. "You shouldn't be reading with such a dim candle," she chided Neville lightly as she set Jacques down.

"Not sleepy," Neville protested from under the blankets.

"None of that. I'm waking you all up early tomorrow," she said before extinguishing the candle. She removed her gloves and her shoes in the darkness, but did not change out of her clothes; there was still one thing she wanted to be sure of before going to sleep.

She waited to hear Enjolras' footsteps in the hallway before she emerged from her room. "You said I could take a look at your law books," she said, seeing his surprised expression in the flickering light of the candle he had with him.

"Ah yes," he said before he let them both into his room. He set down the candle on his desk before quickly looking through his rather less crammed bookshelf. "Are you planning to do any reading now?" he asked, deftly extricating one hefty tome and handing it to her.

"No, but I know you were; you have a light with you," she pointed out, carefully weighing the volume in her hands before setting it down on a chair. She laughed at the petulant, almost guilty look he gave her. "I'm right, I know it!"

"It is only to make up for our time consuming misadventure," he pointed out, motioning for her to take a seat even as he took off his coat and put it on the chair where she'd set aside the book.

"I forgot to ask you earlier; how did you know about being at the Cafe du Foy?" she asked, eschewing the chair in favour of sitting next to him on his bed.

"I was looking for a journalist to publish the  _Radicaux_  statement regarding the events," Enjolras explained. "The turn of events made that venture superfluous though."

"I s'pose it was good you did it yourself, or no one would have known that Citizen Bellanger was there," she remarked. She felt a rush of embarrassment as she recalled what else had transpired at the cafe. "I s'pose I shouldn't have been on the tables like that."

Enjolras chuckled with amusement. "You were enjoying yourself."

"Till Gavroche got my purse; that was why I was up there!" she laughed. "I had you lost for words."

"You always catch me off-guard," he pointed out. "That is not a bad thing."

She sighed as she inched closer to him then ran her hand through his hair, then down to his brow, then his cheekbones, and on to the rest of his face and down to the strong line of his neck and his shoulders. After spending a good part of the afternoon imagining quite vividly how he had been faring, she found that she could only be reassured by what she could actually touch. She swallowed hard, now completely unsure what she wanted to say first: that she had been very afraid for him, that she was happy that they were both safe, or even that she was proud that his quick thinking and decisiveness had once again turned a dire day in their favour. She kissed him tremulously, feeling a shudder course through her when he slipped his hand down to her waist and pulled her to him before kissing her back fiercely, almost hungrily. It was only sinking in now that she'd come far too close to losing him, and once again the other way around.  _'I promised I won't let him lose me,'_ she reminded herself, bringing her hand up again to twist his hair around her fingers.

Enjolras abruptly broke their kiss, his eyes deep with concern. "Eponine? Is something wrong?"

It was only then that Eponine realized that her eyes felt hot and even wet. "You know, the first time I went to prison, I was sure I'd lost everything," she blurted out. "I thought for a moment there I'd even lost Azelma till they detained her with me."

"This time, you were in no such danger," he reminded her.

She smiled as she felt his warm hand gently brush against the back of her neck. "You would have seen to that," she whispered, moving her hands down to his chest before kissing his neck. She knew now that he had argued to save her as well. It was in the same vein that she'd refused to say anything to implicate him. She closed her eyes tiredly and rested her head against his shoulder, almost ready to fall asleep right there and then till she felt his lips against her temple. "Antoine?"she asked, opening her eyes.

"Time for you to get to sleep, in your own room," Enjolras said firmly.

She nodded, feeling too weary now to tease him about this concession to propriety. She let him help her up and accompany as far as the door to her room. "You always mean that 'later' even in your letter," she quipped drowsily when he handed the book to her at the doorway.

"You also mean it too. Every day," he said before kissing her chastely. "Good night, Eponine."

"Good night, Antoine," she whispered before letting herself into her room, and carefully setting the book down on her desk. She was asleep almost from the moment she sprawled face down on her bed, all too ready to catch what dreams she could before facing the next day.

 


	61. Chapter 61: Notoriety Requires Fortitude

**Chapter 61: Notoriety Requires Fortitude**

_March 3, 1833_

_London, England_

_Dear friend,_

_I am writing to further the tale of what is going on here in London, even though I am sure you have already been informed through the delegation's official dispatch. You may assure everyone else again that I am well, and that our visit here is approaching its end. The arrival of this letter and other dispatches may coincide with our return to Paris._

_What I will disclose is not entirely a matter of diplomacy, but it may make a ripple if certain conjectures are drawn. I had an appointment a few hours ago at Piccadilly, and I happened to arrive at the rendezvous far earlier than I'd expected. The weather was inclement, as always, and I had to take refuge in one of those establishments known as a gin-palace. The place was full, but my attention was drawn by two rogues seated near the doorway. There was nothing particularly conspicuous or noteworthy in their manner. I had been ready to pass them by till one of them blurted out that he had news of 'the Frenchman of Dover.'_

_It was difficult for me to take note of everything they said, but this is what I recall:_

" _ **What, has he made the papers already?"**_

" _ **No, the news came through the usual means. He's fallen into the prison now, and there is no getting him out of it."**_

" _ **He should never have left Dover; there were other agents more suited to the task. He was too confident in his contacts in Paris."**_

" _ **They must have miscarried then, or he must have been too bold. He wasn't even captured by the police, but by civilians!"**_

" _ **That blundering bugger!"**_

" _ **Magnon must have been hard-pressed to secure his intended victim; he attempted an ambuscade by daylight, by luring the man into a cafe. Too unorthodox."**_

" _ **Well, who caught him then?"**_

" _ **A legislator, the one named Enjolras. He was with two friends: that journalist Grantaire and some other fellow, some bald one. Also with them was that adventuress, Miss Thenardier."**_

" _ **Are you absolutely sure?"**_

" _ **I'm willing to wager my life on it. You know that Magnon has been tussling with them; he must have slipped very badly to be caught by such schoolboys."**_

" _ **So much for that; the news has probably reached Prussia by now, and there's no use pretending it didn't happen. The Austrian certainly knows too."**_

" _ **Then it's as good as over then; he won't stand for it."**_

" _ **Perhaps not...I'll tell you in a few moments."**_

_At this point these gentlemen exited the gin palace. I followed them as far as a house two streets away, where they were instantly admitted by a porter. I was able to find out that the house belongs to a certain admiral by the name of Calamy, but before I could inquire any further the porter spotted me and shut the door in my face._

_I am not able to sketch the visages of the men concerned with any accuracy, but I have enclosed a description of them in another missive to Bahorel. This must not be disclosed until I return, or unless I meet some mishap along the way, heaven forbid._

_I do not know if events in Paris will allow you to make sense of this story or conspiracy, or if it can be solidly traced to anything the police already know. I've written to Eponine, Grantaire, and Bossuet (I am certain that he was the one who went unnamed) to refer to this letter for an explanation._

_My sincerest apologies if this letter has upset your peace of mind. Forgive my hurried penmanship; I am intent on posting this as soon as possible. I hope to be back in Paris around the middle of this month. Please extend my regards again to the rest._

_Your friend,_

_Gilles Feuilly_

This letter finally arrived at the Rue Jean Jacques Rousseau at dawn on March 8, two days after the colourful events at La Force and Saint-Lazare. By midmorning the note's recipient had already read it twice, and was now mulling over its unsettling content as he sat at his desk at the Hotel de Ville. ' _It's still too circumstantial to properly stand as evidence to a conspiracy,'_ Enjolras decided as he carefully pocketed the note. He carefully shifted the flickering candle on his desk, such that it cast a tolerable glow over the papers and case folios piled in a neat stack to one side of the table. He guessed that it had to be past ten in the morning, although the relentless downpour outside made ascertaining this fact rather difficult.

Even as he feverishly worked on some much needed revisions to a petition, Enjolras found it difficult to completely banish from his thoughts the matter of Feuilly's intriguing discovery concerning Magnon.  _'Perhaps because it has slipped my mind too for some days,'_ he berated himself. Inasmuch as the entire debacle with Duchamp was disturbing, the matter of Magnon and his failed assassinations was just as weighty or even more. ' _One man behind bars but with his activities still needing additional clarification, and another man on the run but with his dealings exposed,'_ he thought as he began rewriting one particularly lengthy paragraph.

He noticed after a while that the lines coming from his pen seemed rather thin, as if the ink was on the verge of drying up. He checked the inkwell and found that the black liquid there had congealed, leaving little more than a thick, oozing film. Enjolras quickly searched his drawers and the bookshelves, only to find that he had somehow managed to use up his entire supply of ink. He gritted his teeth as he locked up his work and some important documents in a drawer, and then put on his coat. Hopefully it would not take long to make the trip for this very necessary object.

As Enjolras stepped out into the hallway, it occurred to him that he had not yet read the official dispatch that Feuilly had mentioned in his letter. Instead of heading downstairs, he went up to the third storey, towards an office for diplomatic affairs. As he reached the stairwell, he caught sight of three familiar figures chatting right on the steps. "Something afoot?" he asked Courfeyrac, Prouvaire, and Bahorel. All three of them were carrying soaked overcoats and hats, and had rainwater pooling in fetid puddles around their shoes.

"You'll find this interesting," Bahorel replied with a triumphant grin. "Blanchard finally filed charges this morning against Magnon. Then there's already a case against Bellanger, filed by a certain Citizenness Constant, no relation fortunately to Benjamin Constant."

"That Citizenness Constant by the way is the lady who Paquet had a particular interest in," Courfeyrac said in a mischievous undertone. "She didn't file a charge against Duchamp though."

"Because he hasn't been caught," Enjolras pointed out. "Two days into the manhunt and no clear sighting of him."

"It will all fall on poor Bellanger then, even if the evidence points to Duchamp as the head of it all," Bahorel pointed out. "It was a good thing that Prouvaire was not satisfied with a mere questioning."

Prouvaire's cheeks turned bright red. "That was put too brutally."

"If it wasn't for your efforts, then the investigation regarding Paquet's demise would be at a standstill," Enjolras pointed out. "You never explained the entire story."

Prouvaire's blush deepened. "I said that I was going home, but I hadn't gone very far when I realized that we hadn't seen either of Duchamp's hosts, the Bayards. It would have been worth asking them a few things about their lodger. I returned and saw Duchamp leaving; I knew better than to follow because that is how sometimes the hero loses a trail. I went to the police commissary and asked a friend there to return with me. That was enough to spook poor Bellanger since he fled and forgot about his tinder; that is the papers and effects taken from Paquet's body. I never saw a fuller fireplace." He cleared his throat before speaking again. "By the time we were done searching Duchamp's apartment, his hosts the Bayards were back from someplace and in uproar and that was how we learned about what was going on across the Seine."

"Which brings us to the next chapter in the tale," Bahorel said, looking at Enjolras. "You shook Perrot and his partner to the core."

"Perrot was courteous. With regard to his partner, I shall reserve my judgment," Enjolras replied tersely, knowing that if he dismissed this, he would never hear the end of it at least from Courfeyrac. The memory of that hour spent in La Force was more irritating than anything else, although he had to admit there was some satisfaction in the art of arguing one's way out of prison. ' _Unfortunately the delay worked well enough for Duchamp to escape,'_ he thought, gritting his teeth.

Bahorel burst out laughing. "His partner was being, how did Perrot say it, 'excessively meticulous' to the point of demanding an annotation of every movement of yours and Eponine's within a five mile radius of the Odeon."

"He was too vigilant at the wrong time," Enjolras pointed out. "He had been at the scene, when Paquet's body was found at the Odeon. There were no eyewitnesses. He also failed to investigate the possibility that Paquet may have been killed  _elsewhere_  and with other implements besides the suspected weapons. That dearth of evidence was already enough to shorten the inquiry."

Courfeyrac chuckled at this. "So that's what it was. The talk was that you and Eponine were taken in based on having actually having made a threat!"

"There were some words taken out of context," Enjolras deadpanned.  _'I had to make it clear that Eponine was not explicitly threatening Paquet when we argued with him at the Lafontaines' soiree,'_ he thought uneasily. He had no choice but to reveal the exact context of that particular altercation, from the fact Paquet had asked Eponine for a dance, and she'd refused, all the way to how the argument had turned a little terse after. The mere recollection of how the interrogators had snickered at this petty intrigue was enough to revive Enjolras' annoyance, even if he already knew that this disclosure had helped expedite Eponine's release from prison.

Courfeyrac nodded to someone who was walking up the stairway. "Lafontaine! It's been a long time!"

"Yes, yes it has been. My apologies, I'm a little indisposed," Auguste Lafontaine said, wincing as he rubbed his temples. He stopped in his tracks and blinked blearily at Enjolras. "How did you manage to get past that rabble downstairs, all asking for you?"

Enjolras raised an eyebrow, but more from the use of the word 'rabble' than Lafontaine's actual question. "For what reason?"

Auguste's jaw dropped. "Didn't you know that you and Citizenness Thenardier are among the most talked about people today in Paris?" He handed over a newspaper caricature that depicted Enjolras and Eponine pulling a vehement looking Duchamp out from under a rock. The effect was humorous bordering on grotesque, especially given that Duchamp's features had been drawn out of proportion in an attempt to emphasize his paunch. "Everyone is talking either about that expose she wrote, or the petitions you're both working on. Is it true that the committee hearings have been pushed forward to Monday of the next week?" Auguste added.

"Yes it is," Enjolras replied over the merciless laughter of his friends as they finally saw the caricature. "I heard that there has been another official report from the diplomatic delegation to England?"

Auguste nodded. "You already have mail from Citizen Feuilly, I take it? Unfortunately the dispatch hasn't reached the consulate yet. What are you looking for there?"

"Clarifying a certain official matter," Enjolras answered candidly, knowing better than to say anything that would unnecessarily put Auguste or any other officials on the edge. ' _At least not till it can be ascertained what information is considered as safe within the diplomatic corps,'_ he decided.

Bahorel's brow knitted thoughtfully. "Has the consulate been keeping watch on any émigrés in England?" he asked.

"A general overview, but nothing specific. You know that espionage is not part of the duties of our diplomatic staff," Auguste said.

"It's not espionage, it's a social call to observe certain interactions," Bahorel quipped, handing the caricature back to Auguste.

Auguste groaned at this jest. "Next thing,  _you_  will be the center of another controversy. You should have been a lawyer if you're going to play with semantics that way."

"You would agree with me that the practice is injurious to one's health."

"Some would say the same about other trades," Enjolras pointed out, seeing that Auguste had gone completely red at this reference to his failure to acquire a licentiate to practice law. "Bahorel was only asking with the intent of supplementing some ongoing surveillance."

"Please do not involve me in it; I already have enough trouble in my own house without burying myself in my own work," Auguste said, holding up a hand. He looked down for a moment before nodding to Enjolras and then to Prouvaire. "Allow me to also apologize on behalf of my family for any misunderstandings they might have helped further with regard to this affair with Citizen Duchamp. There was much they should not have said."

"That is understandable," Enjolras said in a level tone.

Prouvaire's expression turned wry. "Everyone had the wool pulled over their eyes. I'm not blaming them in the slightest."

' _He couldn't have said it better,'_ Enjolras thought even as he saw Auguste let out a visible sigh of relief before taking his leave to go to his own office. While none of Duchamp's insinuations and machinations had forced any of the Lafontaines to change address, it was still clear that the strain on that particular household was incredible, perhaps even irreparable.

Bahorel shook his head sympathetically at Prouvaire. "Do not take it wrongly if I say that you are under no obligation to take her back," he said.

"I know, but it's another matter entirely," Prouvaire said. "I have made myself clear, but I am only waiting for her to clarify her end of the matter." He looked hopefully at Enjolras. "Has Azelma said anything to Eponine?"

"They are not speaking to each other," Enjolras replied.

Courfeyrac wrung out his sodden coat. "The fact that they are sisters only complicates the matter as opposed to helping it. The irony of blood after all."

"If it's any consolation, they will not be able to avoid each other forever. The circles we all run in are not all that vast," Bahorel pointed out.

Enjolras excused himself shortly after this and quickly walked back downstairs. Much to his relief, all he had to contend with on the first floor was a handful of journalists and six artisans who had come to pester Bamatabois about some matter, but instead decided to pass the time by asking for comments from any official or legislator who happened to be around. By the time Enjolras was able to leave the building, the rain had slowed to a more amiable drizzle, at least one that would allow him to make his way relatively unhindered to a certain stationery shop in the neighbourhood of the Pont Neuf.

This particular establishment was run by a certain Villeneuve, a distant kinsman of the same admiral who had figured in the Battle of Trafalgar. However this Villeneuve of 1833 was already troubled enough by being situated so close to the Seine, and had a pronounced horror of the open sea; in fact his occupation for this hour was drawing up plans for a dike around his home should a flood threaten the premises. Nevertheless, he still offered Enjolras a warm greeting when the latter knocked on the door of his shop. "I would have thought that the Hotel de Ville would never run short of such a simple thing; shouldn't there be a stockpile for the many offices there?" he remarked when the young man explained his sudden visit.

"These small details are rated as personal expenses," Enjolras explained.

Villeneuve shook his head as he searched through a shelf stocked with bottles of ink. "With the middling salary that you supposedly receive, that should not be the case. I'd exact these working expenses from the pursers if I was working there." He frowned as he pulled out one bottle and then another. "Blast it all, my best stock, all ten bottles of it, was all bought up by a lieutenant!"

"I'll have eight bottles of that stock there, to the left."

The shopkeeper tapped his fingers on the counter. "They've been going about more often here lately. The main garrison is the Rue de Babylone. Don't you think it's too long a way from here, especially since there are other establishments for supplies  _and_  leisure in the Latin Quartier?" he continued as if he had not heard what Enjolras said.

Enjolras raised an eyebrow curiously at this observation. "There are regular patrols in some parts of the city. Are they doing anything that should be of particular concern?"

"Aside from congregating? They are distracting the women and children of the neighbourhood," Villeneuve answered, finally getting the ink that Enjolras had pointed out. "The children, I can understand. The sight of a gentleman in regalia only excites their fanciful imaginations. As for the women, they already have enough on their minds with prices, home, and politics, without having to fend off the attentions of these uniformed rascals. It's a mercy that these soldiers are generally sober when they are in these parts."

"For duty's sake," Enjolras said as he began counting out the francs he would need for his purchase.

Villeneuve shrugged sceptically. "That is opposed to actual  _vertu_ and chivalry _."_ He quickly counted out the sum that Enjolras handed to him. "You're lacking in the latter though. A legislator should not allow his women constituents to expose themselves to the dangers of the political arena."

"The charter has granted them the duty of suffrage. It would further establish equality if they are given the means to ensure that they are truly being represented in the assembly."

"Yes, but do they not have husbands, fathers, brothers, or well, other male companions who can take up their cause and further it? I have a daughter of my own, and I would be a failure as a father if I allowed her to be subjected to the jeering and disorder of political proceedings."

Enjolras remembered for a moment the tumult that had marked the end of the first legislative assembly, particularly the impertinent and even insulting questions that had circulated in the hours and days after. "Then we should re-examine the conduct of our politics, if we should persist with brutishness and savagery, or if we will do away with these and make it a point instead to uphold civility and rationality in our assemblies and discourses."

"Combat cannot be kept out of politics. It will ruin the natural tenderness and delicacy of women, and thus make them unfit to bring up children," Villeneuve pointed out, counting out some change. "An excess of rationality and a dearth of affection will ruin matters."

"These are not times for an excess of sentimentality," Enjolras retorted sternly as he took the five sous that Villeneuve put on the counter. "This ink will be put to good use. You have my thanks," he said.

Villeneuve smiled, despite the fact that his comments had been swept to the wayside. "You'd better be careful with those officers though; they're unruly when they are away from sensible eyes," he added almost as an afterthought.

"Define unruly."

"Gambling on pears being in season."

Enjolras paused at this allusion to the still untraceable Duc d'Orleans. "Did they say where?"

"Three places: Cadiz, Valetta, or Brussels," Villeneuve replied cryptically. "You'd better be careful where the pickers are sent."

"If you can find out where they ought to go, send word to the Surete and the consulate. Thank you again," Enjolras instructed before exiting the shop and returning quickly to the Hotel de Ville. The place was quieter now; it seemed as if the tumult and all business had been settled. This, combined with the rejuvenating effect of having broken solitude and stepped outside for a little while, was enough to help Enjolras regain his focus on his work. For hours he wrote, revised, and read furiously; it was already Friday and he knew that he was running short on time to polish the revisions.

By the time he stopped working, it was already nearly five in the afternoon. He rubbed his eyes as he got up from his desk, noticing now a tingling pain building in his right wrist. ' _Perhaps the dispatch has already arrived by now,'_ he thought as he carefully packed up his work, along with five of the bottles of ink. A quick visit to the diplomats' office proved futile; the dispatch had not yet been received. Seeing that there was nothing yet he could do on this particular count, Enjolras headed to Picpus, hoping to find Combeferre at the Andreas residence.

He noticed a simple dark blue and silver carriage waiting near the gate of the Andreas house, an unusual sight even in this old neighbourhood.  _'It probably isn't business that brought the Pontmercys here,'_ he noted, a notion which was apparently confirmed when he was met at the door by a rather bemused looking Marius. "Good day to you Pontmercy," Enjolras greeted the younger attorney.

"I could say the same to you, Enjolras," Marius said. "Combeferre was here an hour ago; he said he had to visit a colleague but he figured you'd come by some time and told me to tell you he'd be back at the Rue Jean Jacques Rousseau tonight."

Enjolras nodded by way of acknowledgment. "Well, what brings you here to Picpus?"

"Cosette said she wanted to visit the old convent, and so of course Father accompanied her, and they asked me to come along. I've been doing too much time at work, so they both say. Then they figured they'd drop by here to see Claudine, but it turns out that Eponine is here too doing some writing," Marius explained. "Father is giving the ladies some practical suggestions for that petition of theirs. He had been providing a great deal for the people in Montreuil-sur-mer, seeing to the welfare even of his workers in that factory."

"A very worthy example," Enjolras agreed. The door to the next room was ajar; he could hear Eponine's ebullient questions mingling with Claudine's more sedate inquiry, Jean Valjean's calm answers, and occasionally even Cosette's insightful commentary. The sound of it was enough to make Enjolras smile to himself; this was the sort of discussion on social questions that he wished would transpire more often in his working hours.

A step sounded in a passage and the two young men turned to see Valentin Andreas there, dressed warmly as he leaned on a cane. "I couldn't help but be drawn to the sounds of conversation. Don't tell Claudine and Francois," the ailing man said in an undertone.

"Please sit down," Marius said worriedly.

"I'm strong enough yet," Valentin replied stubbornly before ambling over in his slow, shuffling gait to a hard settee. "So have you come to help them with that petition of theirs?" he asked Enjolras kindly.

"I came to see Combeferre actually, regarding another matter," Enjolras replied candidly. He glanced briefly towards the next room, to where Marius had already excused himself. "They seem to already have their question well in hand."

"They are so bold. You all are. I fear though for my daughter and how much more she can withstand," Valentin said. He took a deep, sorrowful breath. "I do my best for her peace of mind, to make sure that she is undisturbed here at home, and so is Francois when he is visiting. One day though, even this home will no longer be a refuge."

Enjolras looked down, knowing that Valentin was referring to more than just his declining health. "It will take time for people to accept these new turns they are working for," he said at length.

"Will I live to see it? I should at least like to have that since I have resigned myself to never having my first grandchild on my knees," Valentin said almost bitterly. "I know you are a busy man; your cause drives your every action. Yet you are an only child. Spare your father this same pain," he said, lowering his tone such that Enjolras had to strain to hear him over the sound of the conversation adjourning in the next room.

"Enjolras, why didn't you come and join us?" Claudine scolded lightly by way of greeting as she and the rest of the group filed into the front room. "You would have loved to hear Citizen Valjean's stories."

"I've already mentioned some of them to him," Jean Valjean remarked.

"In quite a different light," Enjolras pointed out; hearing about Montreuil-sur-mer in the context of Jean Valjean's escape from the law was a far cry from the details of his benevolence and even innovation with regard to that town. He noticed Eponine quickly making her way to one of the backrooms, stopping only in the doorway to nod to him, holding up one ink stained hand while making a scrubbing motion with the other.

"You should tell them again," Cosette cajoled Jean Valjean. "It's too wonderful a story to only hear once; why, I think Marius and I should write it down so that others can learn from it."

"I do not believe I can do justice to that; incorporating those reforms into law would be better," Marius said, reddening quite visibly. "But how will you manage all of that by Monday, when your second committee hearing is scheduled?" he asked Claudine.

"Eponine seems to think that it is possible," Claudine replied, going to help Valentin out of his chair. "It's too short a time, Enjolras. Why are the committees so set on early hearings? Do they anticipate numerous revisions again?"

"Yes, and differences of opinion," Enjolras replied.

Valentin sighed even as Claudine tried to assist him out of the room. "I can manage myself. Good luck with those differences. It sounds like you all have your work cut out for you," he said.

"Indeed we do. But enough talk about politics; Francois will be upset that you wandered out of bed again," Claudine said before accompanying her father out.

"I hope this isn't too rude a question at this time, but who will head the committee regarding your petition, if Paquet is unable to?" Marius asked Enjolras.

"The decision will be made tomorrow; there will be an emergency session for that," Enjolras replied.

"I will be praying that the new head will be more sympathetic," Cosette sighed.

"It's more than a matter of sympathies, but of evaluating how the petition can be made into a truly beneficial law," Enjolras said.

"That is sensible," Cosette said. She looked towards where Eponine was just returning to the room. "Are the gloves ruined?" she asked her friend worriedly.

"Yes, but not entirely. I can still at least wear them at my desk," Eponine replied, holding up a pair of gloves that were covered with huge ink blots. "At least I won't need them for writing at home for the next two or so days."

"How much work do you still need to do with your petition?" Enjolras asked her.

"More than half of it; it's really that horrid legal way of writing that troubles me," Eponine replied, her tone both wry and teasing. "I made sure to buy three bottles of ink for it."

"That many?" Marius blanched.

"I s'pose I won't use up all of it, but I don't want to be running to and fro when I could have made it easier in the first place," Eponine explained.

"Well if you happen to run out of ink, let me know," Enjolras said, giving her a conspiratorial look. This was far as he was going to let on in front of their friends that he'd made similar preparations for what already promised to be several days of endless work.

"Ah yes, since you'll be writing too!" Eponine exclaimed. "I s'pose you won't be sleeping very much too then till Monday, since you're doing all of it by yourself...or not exactly by yourself, now that I think about it."

"What do you mean?"

"I s'pose you and I can share candles, just to be practical. I wouldn't have bought so many if I knew we'd be up to the same thing for the next few days after all."


	62. Chapter 62: Making More Than Sense of Ink

**Chapter 62: Making More Than Sense of Ink**

"When Azelma and I were learning to write, Maman would let us copy lines out of the books she read."

"Which books were those?"

"Romances of course. There was nothing else," Eponine deadpanned, looking up from the page she was blotting. She laughed on seeing Enjolras' eyes go wide with disbelief. "Of course Papa wasn't happy with that, so he made us write some things he said were more sensible. He had some articles he'd kept all about Waterloo and the Emperor's glory in it."

Enjolras just managed to keep a straight face as he dipped his pen into an inkwell. "Of all things to start an education with."

"I understand one is rather odd, but what about the other?" Eponine asked mirthfully.

"They are distortions of facts," Enjolras answered dryly, reaching over to adjust the candle that served as the only source of light in his room. He muttered a quick apology when he jostled Eponine's wrist; there wasn't enough elbow room even though they were already working at a larger table that they'd borrowed from Combeferre. "Both stories are often too embellished for the sake of popular sensibilities," he added more seriously.

"I know what you think of Napoleon, but I ought to tell you that Waterloo was a good battle. He set things out well enough, like he did in most other cases."

"He was a good tactician, but not much else. Buonaparte from Elba all the way to Waterloo cannot be depicted as more than a despot's ambition going against a restored king and his alliance's obstinacy."

Eponine rolled her eyes and laughed at his old-fashioned pronunciation. "He was trying to get a foot back against the Bourbons, who were also thrown out for a good reason."

"It was a war he would have ultimately lost owing to his enemies, especially those who did not have to take up arms to oppose him. His idea of empire is a folly that is not tenable in our day."

"You're terrible to say that, even if I'm no longer a Bonapartist. "

"For a good reason."

"He's no worse than other emperors I read about."

"Why would you say so?"

"I s'pose the only thing I really dislike about him is that code of his; it's just as bad to read as any other law made by the Bourbons or anyone else!" Eponine retorted, gesturing to the huge book of laws still lying open near her left elbow. "How could you keep up with all the Latin they use in these laws? It sounds so horrid when one tries to actually say it."

Enjolras smirked as he looked up again from his work, having reached the end of a paragraph. "Yes, but laws are  _not_  usually meant to be read aloud."

"They should be. It would make things so much simpler," Eponine insisted, unwilling to let him have the last word in their banter. She carefully set aside the sheet to dry at the end of a row of papers also laid out for the same purpose, taking care not to disarrange an adjacent line of pages that Enjolras had also just finished working on. ' _If only it wouldn't be so cold and wet now, just so all this ink could dry faster,'_ she thought, carefully extricating a clean sheet of paper from a stack at the far end of the table and smoothing it out in front of her.

She smiled as she opened up her notebook to recopy a paragraph from there; these two nights of staying up late were finally beginning to pay off. She figured she had only a few more points to address before she could call this particular draft finished. As for Enjolras, he was already editing his work, going over each line more meticulously than even Eponine had expected him to.  _'We'd both be through by now though if it wasn't for all those legal words to think of,'_ she thought, casting another baleful look at the law book she'd been using as a language reference. Not even the need to interrupt work for brief errands, personal necessities or to take care of her brothers was proving to be this much of a setback. She tapped her feet as she studied a whole dictation from Citizenness Legendre and some other members of the group at Les Halles; it was a challenge to render the everyday language of their discussions into something resembling legal parlance.  _'Almost like translating,'_ she decided as she began reworking a list of 'perceived offenses and penalties in places of employment'.

"If it's very, very clear that there's something wrong in a workshop and someone might get hurt in that sort of place, is that still-oh what's this silly word again— _prima facie?"_ she asked Enjolras after a while.

"No, that is about getting evidence that explains the case," he replied, smiling slightly. "You might mean  _res ipsa loquitur_ -something that can speak for itself."

Eponine frowned as she tried mouthing this new term. "I s'pose it doesn't sound as terrible when  _you_  are the one saying it." She grinned as she caught Enjolras' surprised look. "I've always liked how you can make so many things sound wonderful to listen to."

Enjolras' cheeks went red for a moment. "You notice the oddest things."

"Oh I listen, believe me. You just make it so much easier," she said before scrutinizing her work again. "It won't be easy explaining all of this; there's so much to make clear to that committee."

"If your work here is any indicator, I have no doubt you will do more than manage."

This time it was Eponine's turn to blush furiously at this compliment, which was quite high praise if it came from him. ' _Can he really be right about it, when I'm working on something so new?'_ she wondered as she continued to write. Then again, perhaps it wasn't the task that was new but it was her. It occurred to Eponine at that moment what she was writing was something that even her father would hear of soon enough, and maybe even he would find it sensible of her.  _'It's so different from what Maman used to tell me, that I ought to write down the stories I'd tell Azelma when we'd play!'_

After a long while she realized that the shadows on the walls were getting longer; the candle was burning far too low. She got up and retrieved a new candle from his desk, where they had stashed all the candles, ink, paper, and spare pens that they'd managed to acquire for this venture. ' _I s'pose almost no one will believe it at first when they find that we were serious about finishing all of this in a few days,'_ she thought, remembering the incredulous expressions that Cosette, Marius, Jean Valjean, and even Claudine had when the topic had turned to revising proposed legislation in such a frenzied manner.

She saw Enjolras already extricating the almost-burned out candle from its holder. "You'll burn your hand  _again_  that way, like you did just after supper," she pointed out, gesturing with her other hand to a small red mark on the back of his palm.

"I'm doing this more carefully," he retorted.

"I s'pose you could also wait till I light this one first."

"Which is how you might burn your hand as well," Enjolras finally got the candle loose and used it to light the one that she was holding. "How many more pages do you still have to work on?"

"Two more, I s'pose," she said, placing the new candle firmly in the holder. She bit back a curse as a drop of hot wax fell on her finger. "You're almost done, I see. That's good," she said as she wiped her hand on her skirt.

"I still have a few revisions to make. Some phrases that can be too easily misconstrued," he replied, carefully moving both their papers away before any wax could drip on them.

"Such as?" Eponine asked, scooting over to take a look. She frowned as she noticed one line that was mostly in Latin. "Does it have to be that way?"

"Yes and then again..."

"That line too. And that one. It's going to be so much work to rewrite!"

He nodded as he grabbed a fresh sheet of paper. "The very point of these is to be understood after all."

"By both lawyers and by other people?"

"Where they can meet halfway," Enjolras said dryly as he began rewriting the page.

Eponine squeezed his shoulder sympathetically; they'd been going back and forth over turns of phrase for the past few days, occasionally resulting in one or both of them having to make brutal rewrites to whole sections. "How many hearings can a petition have?" she asked after a while.

"As many as it will take till the committee votes to pass it," he said. "That is, unless the committee votes to put the petition out of consideration, which will become an option after the  _third_  hearing."

"So I s'pose that this Monday hearing is the one wherein we have to do the most convincing if we are to get anywhere," she mused.

He nodded at this astute observation before absent-mindedly brushing her hair out of her face. "This time, the committees will be going over each provision, word for word in some cases."

"Won't that take too long?"

"It is that, or the third hearing will be a very short one."

Eponine laughed, already imagining how such a scenario would play out. "Not if I have anything to say about it," she said before getting back to work. After a while she heard Enjolras yawning as he scratched out a whole line and then tossed out the entire page. In the now brighter light she could see how often he rubbed his temples in an attempt to fight off slumber. His eyes were a little red and he was blinking far more than usual. She carefully reached over to take his hand before he could pick up another sheet of paper. "I'll wake you up when I've finished a page or two," she offered.

He shook his head as he curled his fingers around hers. "I'm almost through with this."

"I remember you said that last night," she scoffed, tugging on his hand more insistently.

"That was before all this rewriting... "he began before yawning again. "We're running out of time," he added a little more sharply.

"The lines on your paper are getting funny, "she pointed out. "If you keep going on, you will need to rewrite everything, and that is an even bigger waste of time."

Enjolras glared at her before looking down at his paper and setting aside his pen. "Fine. At least before dawn then," he said, tiredly blotting his work before resting his head on his arms and shutting his eyes.

"It won't take me that long," she promised, clasping his wrist. There was no way she could convince him to use his own bed, so she simply watched him for a moment to make sure he was as comfortable as his position allowed him to be. Even as she worked, she glanced over now and then to check on him; hopefully sleeping in that manner would not provoke a recurrence of the nightmares that had plagued him not even two weeks ago.  _'I wonder if he ever dreams of me,'_ she thought wistfully, taking in the sight of his strong shoulders rising and falling evenly with each breath. Yet despite all her resolve, getting to the end of the two pages she promised took more effort than she thought, and she felt her eyes begin to itch and her pen begin to grow heavy. ' _Just a moment, then I'll be able to finish this,'_ she thought before sitting back in her chair for a moment and closing her eyes.

When she opened her eyes again, she found that she wasn't in her chair but actually lying in a bed. She sat up and rubbed her eyes, wondering how much time had really passed; the candle was perhaps halfway burned through. She saw Enjolras reading through his work; his lips were moving as if he was trying out a phrase or two. As quietly as she could she stole up to him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. "I thought you weren't supposed to read laws aloud," she teased in a low voice.

Enjolras nearly started but he grinned before kissing her. "When they are passed that is."

She giggled on feeling the stubble on his chin against her cheek. It never failed to make her smile whenever he took the initiative to kiss her. "I forgot to wake you up," she said apologetically in his ear.

"It was not a long delay," he reassured her as he put down his work. "Did you sleep well?"

"Yes. I wish you still woke me up though," she replied, smiling at the rather well-rested tone evident in his voice.

"You needed to rest."

"Not for that long," she retorted, using a finger to trace his collarbone through his shirt, and then inwards to the hollow of his bare throat. She expected him to be flustered with this or perhaps to chide her for being so forward but much to her surprise he turned to capture her lips with his, kissing her slowly but in such a way that she could feel a tingling from the top of her head to her very toes. It was far more intimate, even bordering on sensual, than any of the times he'd ever kissed her. She stepped away so that she could move to face him properly before quickly kissing him again, this time feeling his hand at the back of her neck as she ran her fingers through his hair, then down towards his chest, making his breath catch momentarily. She wondered for a split second if somehow their ink stained fingers were leaving smudges everywhere, but the thought was quickly abandoned when he pulled her to him such that she could feel him against her as they continued to kiss. It was enough to send heat pooling deep within her stomach, more so when she felt his long fingers curling at the small of her back.

Suddenly Enjolras pulled away and glanced towards the door. "Someone is awake downstairs," he whispered raggedly.

"You mean Citizenness Leclair is hassling somebody. We'd better go and see who," she said as they quickly began straightening out their clothes. It was all she could do not to grit her teeth with frustration at being interrupted. "Put on a cravat," she said, rubbing the side of his neck where she'd somehow left a thumbprint.

His eyes widened. "Eponine, what did you do?"

"It's only ink, but it's too obvious," she said. ' _What sort of visitor would be here at this hour?'_ she wondered as she and Enjolras sneaked towards the stairs, more so when she heard their concierge's voice rising a little shrilly in the front room.

"I know you said it's urgent, but it's not even five in the morning!" Citizenness Leclair snapped as she shook her broom at a young man clad in a thick, almost shapeless greatcoat. "Haven't you got any sort of manners, Citizen?"

Eponine's eyes widened as she realized who the old woman was haranguing. "Feuilly!"

The former fan maker looked up quickly, his somber face brightening with a grin. "Good morning Eponine. Good morning, Enjolras."

Enjolras nodded before going down the last few steps and crossing to clasp Feuilly's shoulder warmly. "It is good to have you back, my friend."

"I couldn't be happier," Feuilly replied, clapping Enjolras' arm. "I already met with Leonor. She'll come by here at a more decent hour," he added, directing this to Eponine.

Citizeness Leclair scowled at her tenants and their guest. "This isn't a time to be making a social visit."

"I wish it  _were_  a social visit, Citizenness," Feuilly said apologetically, trying to comb soot out of his hair.

"My apologies for the fuss. We'll be unobtrusive upstairs," Enjolras said to Citizenness Leclair.

"You'll wake up the boys; you three had better go to the kitchen; there's still coffee there," Citizenness Leclair said exasperatedly before flouncing back into her room and slamming the door.

"At least it's warmer there. You may as well stay for breakfast, Feuilly. We always get to an early start," Eponine said, even as she began wondering what she would have to do to get back into their concierge's good graces. "So why don't you tell us about England?" she said to Feuilly as soon as they were all seated at the kitchen table.

Feuilly rubbed his hands for warmth. "Rain. Far too much rain so that it soaks every conversation. I can count on two hands the number of discussions that didn't raise the topic in some form or another. London is dreary enough, and the water takes all the remaining charm out of it. As for the society, I find their peerage even more odious than our former aristocrats."

"The content of your last letter is surprising. I have yet to read the official dispatch though," Enjolras pointed out.

"The official dispatch was  _never_  sent out," Feuilly said. "We had to recall it in light of what happened on the evening I went to Piccadilly. The owners of the house, the Calamys, were in France fairly recently, so it may seem. Apparently they were visiting a friend of theirs, Dr. Maturin."

"Dr. Maturin is Combeferre's mentor," Enjolras said, his eyes narrowing slightly. "They are the same Calamys then who were at the Rue de Bac, visiting the Doulcets."

Eponine shivered as saw before her again the alley where she and Enjolras had rescued Neville and Jacques, but she still shut her eyes, trying desperately to remember the dazzling, almost dizzying salon. "That red-faced admiral said the English weren't helping the émigrés. So he was lying."

"Not exactly, if he meant that their crown isn't doing anything. The efforts for our émigrés are all private affairs," Feuilly said. "The King and Parliament deny that they as institutions are sanctioning the émigrés or Magnon and his fellow counterrevolutionaries, but there are lords and businessmen who have been conspiring on their own accord. The Calamys are among them. They both fought against Bonaparte; the admiral was a lieutenant and an active captain in those days, the lady was with the intelligence. Apparently she and Dr. Maturin had a part in bringing down a number of Bonaparte's agents, mostly in the Mediterranean. The doctor has long since retired from the world of espionage and politics, at least so it may seem, but not his friends."

Enjolras looked down. "This is troubling. There may be some collusion at the border then if the Calamys were able to arrive in Paris without arousing much suspicion."

"The part of Citizenness Calamy as an intelligence agent  _was_  a well-kept secret until my colleague, the same one I was to meet, extracted it from our own agents who've had to deal with her in the past. Too many privileges were invoked for that information," Feuilly said, wiping his brow. "The collusion there was in Magnon's getting in Paris. Apparently  _they_ accompanied him."

"Does Dr. Maturin have a part in any of this?" Enjolras asked.

"No one can say yet," Feuilly replied. "I thought his sympathies were Republican."

"He professes to be against tyranny."

"A relative thing, I am starting to find. I have experienced it in my own delegation."

"That is nasty of them. So will you diplomats be asking people or something?" Eponine asked. "I know from Montparnasse that Magnon was supposedly working with Citizen Ravigard but there was never enough to prove anything. I know that they tried questioning Citizen Ravigard, but I don't s'pose much has happened there."

"That particular question will have to be revisited," Enjolras said bluntly, sitting back in his chair. "More so since we already have Magnon in custody for assault and attempted murder and now there is a far more serious reason to put him on trial."

"You two filed charges?" Feuilly asked incredulously.

"Not us; Citizen Blanchard did. Magnon lured him into a  _cabinet noir_  and we fixed the trouble, like what you heard about," Eponine informed him.

Feuilly chuckled grimly. "He must have felt the net closing in; the émigrés are finding it more and more difficult to support his efforts. What frightened many of them was the news of the explosion at Notre Dame. Since then, his allies have been growing scarce."

"Let us hope that is true even here in Paris," Enjolras said. "If you have time, and of course if it does not transgress the boundaries of your work, you must explain all of this to Blanchard. Today if possible."

Feuilly grinned, clearly catching on to something. "I can spare a few hours this morning. Now what have I missed here in Paris? Leonor mentioned a whole mess involving a jeweller who did some business with Azelma, and also the fact that Paquet was murdered, and somehow you two got blamed for it?"

Eponine winced, wondering how unkind a spin her friend put on the whole matter. "My sister was being a silly, but unfortunately it was mostly at Prouvaire's expense. I s'pose I should tell you they aren't staying in the same house now. "

"So what does Paquet have to do with it?"

"He was on the jeweller's trail, and he paid with his life for it. The jeweller himself has been at large for four days now," Enjolras replied tersely, his eyes darkening for a moment. .

Feuilly shook his head. "I fear though this affair is going to get sensationalized, given the public's taste for scandal and caricature."

' _Such as the one that came out last Friday,'_ Eponine thought, catching Enjolras' knowing look. She could only imagine what sorts of artistic renderings they would see over the next few days. ' _If it's not the trials, it will be the committee hearings,'_ she mused even as she excused herself, hearing yet another knock on the front door.

She found Leonor there, carrying two loaves of bread. Judging by her ruddy face and her slightly dishevelled curls, it seemed as if she had run part of the way to the tenement. "Is Gilles still here?" the newcomer asked.

Eponine nodded. "He said you wouldn't be here for a while."

"Yes, but that was before something urgent happened. I brought the bread for breakfast since I don't want to be rude," Leonor explained. She frowned as she got a good look at Eponine. "I know you've spent all this time writing, but  _why_  is there ink in your hair?"

"Inky fingers," Eponine deadpanned.

Leonor nodded slowly. "Well you'd better wash your hands then, there's a meeting at the Place Vendome at nine this morning. We're now making our group an official political society."

"And what name will we have?"

" _Les Femmes Pour Egalite et Fraternite."_

Eponine frowned as she tried to imagine how this name would look on a document or a ribbon. "I hope they'll come up with a better idea later," she quipped as she let her friend in the house.

When they returned to the kitchen, Enjolras and Feuilly had just finished setting the coffee on the stove. "I thought you'd be asleep," Feuilly said to his mistress.

"And alone again? I'm not standing for it," Leonor retorted, setting down the bread and then taking a seat next to him. "I hope you didn't meddle with our petition," she said bluntly to Enjolras.

"I kept to my side of the table," Enjolras answered.

' _Mostly,'_ Eponine thought, shooting him a mischievous look. "He only gave a few pointers as to the legal trouble but that's not much. The rest is all our words," she reassured Leonor.

"That's good," Leonor said in a more mollified tone.

' _She'd be a lot ruder if Feuilly wasn't here,'_ Eponine thought. It was just as well that the conversation turned to the more enjoyable details of Feuilly's journey, as few and far as they were. Despite this interesting turn, Eponine finished breakfast quickly to give herself more time to ready for this unexpected appointment. She had to scrub hard with a damp washcloth to get all the ink smudges off her hands and her hair before changing into her green dress. She carefully gathered this at the waist with a wide tricolor ribbon, and then went to comb out her hair and pin it back away from her face.

Just as she was about to step out of her room, she saw Jacques peeking out from under his blanket. "Are you done writing?" he asked her.

"Not yet. I have to meet with some people for a little bit, but I'll be back soon," Eponine said, going to him.  _'How can Gavroche and Neville still manage to sleep in?'_ she wondered, looking towards where her two other brothers were still curled up in their bed. "There's some nice bread downstairs. Leonor brought it for all of us."

At the mention of breakfast, Jacques quickly bolted out of bed. "Wake up! There's something nice to eat!" he shouted, scrambling over to their brothers and jumping on them.

"Go away Jacques!" Gavroche groaned as Neville swatted Jacques away with a pillow.

"Jacques, stop that," Eponine scolded, lifting the little boy off the bed. She sighed at the indignant looks that Gavroche and Neville were giving her. "I'll make sure he doesn't eat all of it," she promised before half-dragging Jacques out of the room.

As soon as they were out in the corridor, Jacques wriggled out of her grip and ran downstairs. Eponine followed him, only to burst out laughing at the sight of Jacques pestering Feuilly and Leonor with his questions, all the while clinging to Enjolras' leg. Enjolras had already managed to freshen up and change into a smart looking morning coat over a maroon waistcoat and well cut trousers. Even when he meant to be less formal, he still looked quite dashing, at least so Eponine thought.

Leonor looked up at Eponine and shook her head. "You managed to write with  _him_ doing this?" she asked, gesturing to Jacques.

"He's normally more behaved," Eponine said, pulling on a pair of wool gloves and then a jaunty white hat. "Jacques, stop that. There's food for you already."

"You heard Eponine. We're not going to stay out too late today," Enjolras said, managing to get Jacques to let go. "You should have breakfast before it gets too cold."

"I want to go with you and Ponine," Jacques insisted petulantly.

"We're going to two places you'll only get bored in," Enjolras reasoned.

Jacques stuffed his hands in his pockets. "Why do big people always have meetings?"

"That only happens when there are plenty of things to do," Enjolras said. He nodded to Eponine. "You and Leonor should go now to the Place Vendome. You remember how far it is."

"Don't you have someplace to be too?" Eponine asked worriedly.

"I can spare about five minutes."

Leonor sighed exasperatedly. "Come on, Eponine, we can't be late."

"Yes, yes, give me a moment!" Eponine said to her friend. She bent and ruffled Jacques' hair. "Please don't give Enjolras a difficult time. He's busy too. You'll listen to him, will you?"

Jacques nodded slowly before giving his sister a tight hug. "I'll be good."

Eponine smiled at him before meeting Enjolras' eyes. "Thank you so much. So till later?"

"Yes. I'll see you then," Enjolras said, clasping her hand for a moment before he followed Jacques and Feuilly to the kitchen. Eponine didn't hide her smile as she adjusted her hat and then headed outside with Leonor.

Leonor raised an eyebrow as she noticed how Eponine had begun to hum a merry ditty as they walked to where they could catch an omnibus. "Were you even planning to go anywhere at all before Monday?"

"Only if I could get all that writing finished," Eponine said, clenching and unclenching her hand. "I was worried I'd have to bandage my wrist. I've seen Stendhal do it a lot, and sometimes I have to also do it to myself when I've been working too long."

"Gilles gets that way sometimes," Leonor remarked sympathetically. "I am so glad he's back. He's so harried from that trip; it really didn't agree with him."

"The weather, the sights, or the news?"

"All three. I wonder what they will be up to, what Citizen Blanchard will decide to do."

' _He could send Magnon to the bagne or worse,'_ Eponine thought, not feeling particularly sorry if this idea could come to fruition. Of course Enjolras wouldn't take the same view on this matter, inasmuch as she knew he also had every reason to make sure Magnon got his due. ' _For what happened to Dufour. For all the notes and cards he's left around to disturb people. For nearly killing him, me, Grantaire, the Stendhals, Blanchard, Foulon, and so many others.'_ What was one to do with this sort of man?

Contemplating this became impossible once she and Leonor arrived at the Place Vendome. The meeting was at the same cafe where the  _Radicaux_  party had its last assembly prior to the elections. Today the crowd was a great deal smaller, just enough to cram the taproom of the cafe. Eponine immediately caught sight of a fresh-faced brunette waving to them. "Cosette?" she called incredulously.

Cosette smiled widely and motioned for her and Leonor to take seats. "You two look surprised."

"I didn't think you would be here," Leonor said.

"I prevailed upon Marius to let me attend. I'm not the only bourgeois lady here either."

Eponine looked around the cafe and nodded, seeing that there were some other women who she recognized from other gatherings. "You're the only Baronne though."

"It doesn't matter since it's a Republic now. Also there are some who don't count titles if they came from Napoleon Bonaparte," Cosette informed her. "So how has all that writing been?"

"Splendid," Eponine said, not hiding her grin. "I have only to finish a few things, then it's off to the hearing tomorrow."

Cosette smiled approvingly. "And how many times has Enjolras revised his own petition?"

"No more than five but that's more than enough!" Eponine laughed. She definitely would treasure the memory of the past two days. "I am so sure it will go well for him tomorrow."

"And how many times did  _you_  edit his work?" Claudine suddenly chimed in as she took another seat at the table.

"Well..."

"Eponine, it's no secret that you're one of his biggest critics," Claudine said.

"I didn't edit, but I did tell him what I think here and there. He'd do the same too," Eponine admitted. "Leonor, it's not the same as meddling since it was only with the words and not with the actual discussion," she added, noticing her friend beginning to scowl.

"There is no harm in a little assistance or cooperation," Claudine told Leonor.

"If it is in the right place..." Leonor muttered, her words drowned out by the sudden hubbub that signalled some tumultuous arrival; a very ornate gilt carriage had pulled up outside the cafe and three figures had alighted.

"The Lafontaine ladies. Angelique and Cerise, am I right?" Cosette asked.

"And my sister," Eponine said, recognizing the slight, raven haired figure trailing after the glamorous pair. She saw Claudine give Leonor a warning look, at the same time that Musichetta, Paulette, and Therese, who had just arrived, shook their heads. The sight of Azelma was unnerving, even slightly unpleasant, but Eponine could not entirely quash the familiar rush of recognition, almost affection that she always had for her sibling. Before she could take a step towards Azelma, she saw Angelique Lafontaine throw a hostile look in the general direction of the group's table before grabbing Azelma's arm to drag her towards the rear of the room.

Cosette shook her head at this. "We'd best avoid them."

"If they come to us though..." Eponine trailed off. "I know, we've been working on teaching me to be polite but it is impossible sometimes."

"I never said you should be demure all the time," Cosette pointed out.

' _Not around them, I should hope,'_ Eponine resolved silently. It was clear that though Azelma was in the Lafontaines' company, she was hardly being noticed, almost as if she was invisible. It was never something that happened when Azelma was in the company of Prouvaire and his friends, no matter how uproarious they could get. Before she could think of how else to approach her sister, she heard the meeting being called to order by one of the other leaders of the Saint-Merry faction. It was all that Eponine could do to keep her mind from wandering even as the convenor began dully reading out the minutes of the last meeting. Yet for all her efforts, Eponine still couldn't help but let her gaze drift towards where Musichetta and their other friends had been forced to find seats near the stairway, to where Allyce Legendre gossiped with her neighbours, and of course to where Azelma was listening to Cerise while Angelique fanned herself.

Suddenly these words cut through her reverie: " _We will now open the floor for nominations for the position of chairperson for the society. Anyone may begin."_ An excited hubbub swept throughout the room, punctuated by a few coughs and angry whispers. Eponine looked to Leonor, who was fidgeting with the edge of the tablecloth. "You did not tell me there'd be elections!"

"I didn't know either," Leonor confessed. She applauded politely when one of the laundresses nominated Allyce Legendre, and the motion was quickly seconded. "There's a natural choice."

At that moment a stool scraped across the floor, and the pert figure of Simone climbed on top of it. "I'd like to nominate Citizenness Eponine Thenardier," she announced.

Eponine felt as if someone had poured snow down her back. "Simone! You never asked!" she scolded.

By this time, Musichetta had gotten to her feet. "I second the motion!" she called. She met Eponine's bewildered eyes. "Please, Eponine. Don't turn this down."

Eponine swallowed hard as she saw Allyce Legendre's visage go red as her eyes narrowed in an expression that could only mean a challenge. The Lafontaines were shaking their heads, and so were a few other older women. Yet at the same time there was Simone's pleading face, as well as many of others who were less familiar to Eponine. She did not even want to look at her own friends, already knowing what they were silently urging her to do. As for Azelma she was only bewildered. No, that did not matter.

If somehow this group elected her, would she be able to manage it? The idea was almost laughable; her, seventeen year old Eponine Thenardier, a street girl and everything demeaning that came with the name, born to a family that was best left forgotten -now at the helm of this group? Yet somehow the only thing that still rang true in her ears was her own name. The name of a heroine, but that of a tragic story. Was that still her part to play? Yet perhaps it was no longer a question of parts, of right, wrong, should, and shouldn't, but now of her free will.

Eponine looked straight at the convenor and nodded. "I accept the nomination."


	63. Chapter 63: In What Form Your Courage May Take

**Chapter 63: In What Form Your Courage May Take**

"Does the omnibus to the Pont d' Austerlitz take this long to pass by?"

"Not usually."

Feuilly rubbed his hands for warmth as he looked up and down the street. "We might be better off walking," he remarked ruefully. "I hope that Citizen Blanchard isn't in the habit of going to church early."

"If he is, can you still afford to spare a few hours?" Enjolras asked.

Feuilly shrugged. "I can, if there is no one else who will take an interest in this case." He shook his head at the distant sound of church bells tolling. "Will you still have time to take the witness stand in this case, if more charges are filed?"

"Only if it is  _absolutel_ y necessary that I do so," Enjolras replied bluntly. He did not even want to picture the havoc that a session in court would do to his already busy schedule. ' _More so if the police ever manage to take Duchamp into custody,'_ he thought. He knew that he was not likely to take the stand if the case of Paquet's murder extended to Bellanger as the sole perpetrator of the crime. On the other hand there would be no shortage of testimonies as well as speculations if Duchamp could be taken to task not just for murder but his attempts at bribing and sowing intrigue in the legislature.  _'And who knows where else?'_ Enjolras thought as he and Feuilly finally boarded an omnibus.

As he took a seat, he noticed a slight figure also scrambling aboard the vehicle. This newcomer nervously looked about and fiddled with the brim of his hat as he searched for a place to sit. It took Enjolras a moment to place the identity of this acquaintance. "Good morning Stendhal," he greeted.

Emile Stendhal nearly lost his footing as the omnibus lurched forward. "Enjolras? Ah...good day to you. You too Feuilly. I didn't know you were back," he said, just managing to avoid his usual stammer. He looked about before awkwardly taking a seat. "This omnibus goes to the Marais, doesn't it?"

"Not directly; you will have to find another at the Faubourg Saint-Antoine," Feuilly replied. "Where in the Marais are you headed to?"

Emile looked about, as if he was afraid to be overheard. "To Citizen Blanchard's. He lives there, doesn't he? I have to speak with him about filing charges against that Magnon fellow."

Enjolras raised an eyebrow. "Exactly what charges?"

"Burglary. That's the closest thing I can think of since he didn't actually lay a hand on anyone when he attacked the house before the elections," Emile answered.

"I see. Why the sudden interest in the case?"

"For my mother's peace of mind." It seemed as if suddenly the nervousness fell from Emile's shoulders; he seemed to sit up taller as he looked at Enjolras and Feuilly. It was almost disquieting to witness. "If it weren't for Magnon, if that is his name, my mother would not be the way she is now. I understand that she is still mourning for my father, but that burglary has put her in a prolonged state of shock."

"You are in need of a physician as well as an attorney."

"I have four doctors trying to help her, including Combeferre and Joly. It might be unorthodox, but I think that this is one time when the law can serve as something of a cure."

"Through the reassurance that he cannot pose any more danger to the public."

Emile put his hands in his pockets. "With all due respect to you and your work, I think that this fiend is an exception to the principle, and he ought to get his final due."

Enjolras levelled a stern look at Emile. "To act on vengeance is an act that is just as out of line as his. It will only lead to continued disorder."

"Is it for you to prevent?" Emile asked sharply. "How could you dismiss this so lightly, Enjolras? This man almost killed Eponine and Grantaire!"

"Yes, and it is also possible that he had a part in other recent crimes. This is why it is important to ensure that this man gets a fair trial and an appropriate sentence. This will ensure that he will remain behind bars for as long as he is still a threat to anyone's life," Enjolras answered. He gave Feuilly a look of understanding; neither of them could divulge what they had just learned about Magnon's part in counterrevolution. Yet even so, Emile's question was disquieting, if not timely; it was one thing to leave a murderer unscathed, another to do the same to a proven threat to public safety.

"Then may he meet his end in La Force," Emile muttered, fiddling with his still wrinkled coat. "My mother does not know I am seeking legal advice. She only thinks I am out on an errand for work. You won't tell Eponine?"

"Not a word," Enjolras said with a nod. Within half an hour they were at the Faubourg Saint-Antoine, where they found an omnibus that brought them in the neighbourhood of the Rue St. Sebastien, which was where Blanchard lived.

It was Marthe who met them at the door, still clutching an embroidery hoop. "My cousin has gone to La Force. Some matter about the case he's filing," she informed them blithely after the appropriate introductions were made.

Feuilly nodded disappointedly. "Did he say what time he'd be back?"

"He'll probably be gone the whole morning," Marthe said as she pulled a thread out of her work. "It shouldn't be difficult to find him there since he dawdles a great deal."

Enjolras had to keep a straight face at this description of his friend's work habits. "We shall not take up any more of your time. Thank you, Citizenness."

Marthe shrugged. "Well there's a meeting I'm not attending, and with reason. Good day to you three," she said before quickly shutting the door.

Feuilly frowned quizzically as they walked away from the house. "Has there been any more trouble I should know about? Something dangerous?"

"Probably some internal affair with that group. I don't know how they get along: these ladies from Les Halles, and those from our side of the river," Emile commented. "How do they?" he asked Enjolras.

' _I'm not sure they even truly do,'_ Enjolras couldn't help thinking. "They have a purpose. That is enough." He looked at his companions intently. "La Force is a long way from here."

"I'm not going home," Emile cut in tersely. "I've only got today to do it; tomorrow I have work." Feuilly merely nodded in assent before they backtracked to catch an omnibus headed in the general direction of La Force.

As soon as they arrived at La Force and asked if Blanchard was on the premises, the trio was immediately directed to a narrow corridor where some guards and a warden were huddled outside a cell. Blanchard was in the middle of this group, already red in the face as he harangued a figure casually leaning against the bars of the cell. Enjolras shook his head disapprovingly at his colleague's apparent loss of propriety. "Good morning Citizens," he greeted, clearing his throat for added measure.

Blanchard stopped in the middle of a string of expletives and turned to look at Enjolras. "This  _filth_  here should be exempt from your civility," he muttered.

"Save your energy for the trial, Citizen," Enjolras said sternly to Blanchard. He nodded to his companions. "You might be acquainted with Citizen Feuilly and Citizen Stendhal."

Blanchard nodded slowly. "Yes, I believe we've met. Why are you here?"

Feuilly made a gesture signifying for Blanchard to step away from the cell. "Something you should know about this case."

"And I also have a charge I wish to file," Emile chimed in.

A low laugh came from the other side of the bars. "And you too, Citizen Enjolras?"

Enjolras turned to meet this heckler's mocking gaze. This was the first time he was getting a proper look at the man known as Olivier Magnon; the arrest at the cafe near Saint-Merry had not been a good opportunity for him to commit this horrible visage to memory. It was the face of a man born to inspire terror; a hooked nose, hooded eyelids, sallow cheeks, and an imperious mouth made up this unsettling profile of a schemer. His cool mien was that of the practiced assassin; perhaps this was why no one dared to step too closely to the cell.

Magnon's eyes were filled with nothing but malice as he looked at Enjolras from head to toe. "I expected that a man of your reputation would be eager to finish the job with your own hands."

Enjolras' eyes narrowed at this jibe. "On the other hand, your efforts warrant the fullest investigation and prosecution under the law. You have been implicated in a number of crimes against persons and against the Republic; therefore you will be given the opportunity to make a proper answer for it."

Magnon laughed again; this time the very sound could have turned the air into ice. "Do not pretend to sound so disinterested. You would not have gone through all this trouble otherwise, and I would not have had to add such a personal touch to this affair."

"I witnessed what you did, from Notre Dame to that assault on Citizen Blanchard. To be indifferent would be obstructing justice," Enjolras retorted.

The prisoner smirked first at Enjolras, and at the rest of the now silent group. "You would not be speaking that way if you'd found me a day or so later. You might notice I was stepping closer and closer to home, in a manner of speaking."

"To home?" Blanchard demanded. "What are you talking about?"

"Don't flatter yourself, Citizen Blanchard, you would not have been a part of it," Magnon said. His lips turned up in a condescending smile as he looked at Enjolras. "I am sure your household would have given me quite the welcome regardless of the hour."

For a moment Enjolras saw red as Magnon's plot became clear to him; there was no way it could end in anything less than bloodstains. "You would not have gained anything with more murders," he said, just managing to keep a level tone.

"I would have. You can only imagine how," Magnon gloated. "It would have made quite the story too."

"You're sick!" Emile blurted out. "Everything you do-"

"I only burgled your house," Magnon said. "And uselessly too."

"You nearly killed my mother!"

"Stendhal, this is not the time," Enjolras warned, laying a hand on Emile's shoulder.

Emile opened and closed his mouth, more so when Feuilly gripped his other arm. "I will see you in court. I will make sure of that," he said.

"We're wasting time. Citizen Blanchard, is there someplace we can talk?" Feuilly asked.

Blanchard gestured to a room at the end of the hallway. "Over there. Shall we?"

Magnon shook his head. "You attorneys bore me. So what will it be, Citizen Enjolras?"

"Do not force my hand," Enjolras answered sternly before turning to leave, not even bothering to listen if Magnon had a last jibe to make. He headed for the room that Blanchard pointed out and then waited there for his companions, all the while mentally reviewing the litany of Magnon's crimes. ' _In another time, the bagne would be considered a merciful fate for him,'_ he thought as Feuilly, Emile, and Blanchard all entered the room.

Blanchard grew paler and paler as he listened to Feuilly, and then to Emile. "Mother of God...this is worse than I thought! I thought he was merely aiming for discord and murder!"

"The former is a fundamental weapon in sowing instability," Enjolras pointed out.

The older attorney sighed deeply. "You're right. Well this matter is going to more authorities then," He wiped his face before speaking again. "The trial was set for the day after tomorrow, but this will change the entire situation. More witnesses will have to be summoned for the new charges. I'm sorry for this necessary delay."

Feuilly nodded sagaciously. "We still have to take this matter to the consulate..." he began before the door suddenly flew open, nearly making him jump. "What on earth-"

"Easy there," Thierry Perrot said from the doorway. The young inspector was rather out of breath as he doffed his hat. "Citizen Duchamp has been taken into custody, just now."

"Where was he found?" Enjolras asked. Over the past few days, the search for the murderous jeweller had already extended beyond the confines of Paris, and the Prefecture had already sent messages to the ports and some border towns to be on guard.

"At a hovel on the Route de Charenton, after all that trouble! Men like him can't bring themselves too far away from events they triggered," Perrot groused. "Anyway we need to use this room for the preliminary questioning in a moment."

"To the Palais de Justice then," Blanchard said. "Or to the consulate first, if anyone is there today," he amended, seeing Feuilly's pointed look.

Feuilly smiled more peaceably. "Enjolras, I understand you're busy; I interrupted your writing session. I think the rest of us can manage from here."

"Without a doubt," Enjolras said. "I am sure that once Courfeyrac hears of your return he will quickly organize some get together."

"One which hopefully we will not have to end so quickly," Feuilly quipped. "Till then!"

After a last round of inquiries and clarifications, Enjolras took his leave of the group. As he walked down the narrow corridor he saw a group of policemen led by Perrot escorting a limping Duchamp in the general direction of La Force's infirmary. The jeweler's hair was dirty and his usually fine clothes were bedraggled; in fact his coat was torn and the hems of his pantaloons were crusted with mud. Duchamp stopped in his tracks and paled when he saw Enjolras. His pasty countenance went livid in a moment though, and he tried to lunge at the young man, all the while screaming invectives.

Perrot cuffed Duchamp. "Move along!" he roared. "It's a touch of the sun," he said uneasily to Enjolras as Duchamp was escorted out of the corridor.

"Why is he limping?" Enjolras asked.

"He tried to jump out of a window. Then we also found some vials in his pockets, so he truly was out to do some damage to himself," Perrot informed him. "Better that for the poor soul than a public trial, as if he wasn't exposed enough in the presses."

"He brought it upon himself by making his dealings in the public sphere," Enjolras commented. "It was only a matter of time till an investigation would have commenced."

"The fact that he was entrapped and unmasked by a woman probably is the most humiliating part of this entire business," Perrot said gleefully. "Anyway you will next see this man in the courtroom. This is going to become a sensation, I am sure."

"One which should be concluded as soon as possible; the courts have no time for these intrigues," Enjolras said. It was clear that Perrot was already anticipating the celebrity that Duchamp's trial would bring about. ' _Fortunately it is only a fleeting thing; it is posterity that one should be more worried about,'_ he thought, remembering once how Combeferre had commented on the passing nature of the shock a scandal could generate, and how the effect actually deadened once chronicled by any source, no matter the slant.

He pushed these thoughts out of his mind as he made his way home; he still wanted to make at least one read-through of his work, and then if time allowed for it, move on to studying other important matters that needed to be decided on in the legislature.  _'There may not be enough time tomorrow,'_ he realized. He would not evade testifying in either one, or even both of these cases; there were a number of specific incidents wherein he was one of the few, if not the sole witness. He could only hope that the rest of his friends would be ready to contribute their testimonies if they also happened to be summoned to the trials.

When he arrived home, he found Neville and Jacques sitting on the stoop, their faces smeared with sugar. "We've had breakfast again!" Jacques announced, holding up his sticky hands while Neville looked up from munching what appeared to be candied fruit.

"You have letters and a whole box from Aix," Citizenness Leclair called from the door of the concierge's lodge. "Gavroche helped himself and the other boys to some of the food right away."

"It's better than the dusty stock in some of the shops," Gavroche said from where he was perched on the stairs with his pet cat in his lap. His face was cleaner than those of his younger brothers, but he had yet to wash his hands.

"Certainly. I see you've already sampled the citrons," Enjolras pointed out dryly as he noticed Neville pulling out another piece of fruit from his pocket.

"Navet calls them apothecary fruits," Gavroche said.

"In some cases, perhaps," Enjolras replied. ' _The rector at the school in Aix used to keep a whole box of them for aperitifs though,'_ he recalled, going over to an opened crate set on top of a seat. Most of the box's remaining contents were comprised of jars of various candied fruits and confits. There were also two bottles of olive oil and some small cheeses. There was also a small package of some sort of cloth; a note in Monique's handwriting signified that this item was for Eponine. On top of all of this was a large bundle of letters, which Enjolras quickly took up to his room to begin reading, beginning with the missive from Louis.

_March 4, 1833_

_My dear Antoine,_

_I hope you will read this letter ahead of the rest: this is to serve as a cover for the entire package as well as an index of everything we have sent. There should be about a dozen letters here from us and your cousins. The goods are indexed on a separate paper; give two of the confits and one of the bottles of oil to your concierge. Your mother has also made it a point to send something to Eponine, as well as a specific letter for her._

_I am pleased to hear that your preparations for your first week in the legislature have been going well. I hope you will detail a little more about the actual proceedings in your next missive. We have just gotten word of some of the events via the newspapers, but those are views from the gallery seats, hardly comparable to what you can relate._

_As you can expect there has been no end of conjecture and controversy upon our return to Aix. Citizen Raynaud won the election, as you probably already have heard by now. The de Bracys are naturally quite put out, but hopefully the everyday matters of life will make the rift inconsequential. The controversy stems mainly from Citizen Raynaud's noted paranoia of counterrevolution; he has no reason to fear in Aix even if reports from other parts do raise suspicion. I have reminded him time and again that he is not to worry overmuch about this and that he should concern himself more with making a resolution about the district roads, or with supporting the initiatives already raised._

_This of course brings me to the fact that you have become quite the topic of conversation in every drawing room in Aix. Much of the talk is approving, though of course there are who fear you will develop a fondness for the guillotine; a contradiction given what you have set out to champion. I trust that you have charted out your course of action well enough, and that you will continue to remain prudent in your dealings. I must remind you to be patient; the legislative process, or what I understand of it, is far too tedious._

_You will probably also hear from your mother that a good many ladies are very disappointed with the news of your attachment to Eponine. I have no end of fun telling these harridans that I prefer to see you with a sensible lady as opposed to a mere decoration. There has also been a more furious stir about that petition Eponine, Citizenness Andreas, and their friends have filed. I hope that this has not had an adverse effect on any of your efforts or those of your colleagues. Please let them know that holding this pen is a gentleman who understands their efforts and would love to see them prosper._

_Write back as soon as possible; there is far too much speculation here. Please give my warmest regards to Eponine, to her brothers, to Combeferre, the Andreas family, and the rest of your friends._

_Sincerely,_

_Your father_

Enjolras carefully sorted through the rest of the letters to retrieve the one for Eponine. He left this, and the mysterious present in the Thenardiers' apartment. He looked quickly through the remainder of the correspondence; much of this was amiable and even politically useful, but there were two letters from his cousins asking him for help with appointments in Paris. The very idea filled him with distaste, and he shelved these letters with the intent of replying to them only after dealing with the rest of his business.

Before he sat down to work, he collated the pages that Eponine had been working on, then set them aside, away from the inkwells. He retrieved his own manuscript from where he'd set it down, smiling with relief on seeing that he hadn't inadvertently spilled ink or anything on it when he'd been pleasantly surprised earlier that day. Within the hour he was through with his intended revisions, and he set this draft aside in a drawer. After this he sat down to review some of the extra paperwork he'd brought home, including some legislation that had also come in from other towns.

Enjolras found now that although the quiet of his room was very much conducive to work, there was something quite lacking in it. He glanced from the empty chair near his and then to his bed, knowing whose scent lingered on the sheets. It was impossible now to think of this room as solely his, not after all the time Eponine spent here, added of course with the likelihood that she would persist with this habit indefinitely. He resolved not to dwell on this as he took hold of one particularly sketchily written petition from Lyon concerning the textile trade there. ' _Something does not seem right with the figures quoted here,'_ he thought. He put on his morning coat again and headed out, this time in the direction of the offices of the Ministry of Commerce, in hopes of clarifying the numbers.

By the time the bell in the Invalides tolled the time of two in the afternoon, Enjolras had already accomplished his errand. The weather was quite peaceable for a March afternoon, tempting even him to linger out of doors a little longer. Instead of heading to the Luxembourg or some promenade, he made his way to the newer book stalls in the neighbourhood of the Place Saint-Andre. On his way there he was stopped every now and then by friends or acquaintances wishing to ask about political news, or simply wishing to engage in some small talk. By the time he reached his destination it was nearly three in the afternoon.

The neighbourhood of the Place Saint-Andre was fast becoming a lively one, owing to its proximity to several schools as well as some newer establishments such as printers and at least one new cafe. This Sunday was no exception; although many shops were closed, many people still gathered anyway to see and be seen. It was impossible for Enjolras to peruse any books in peace; at every turn there was someone who would hail him or bother him for more questions. As he was thumbing through a copy of Smith's  _"The Wealth of Nations"_ , he felt someone jostle him. "Don't you ever read anything for leisure?" his colleague Bamatabois greeted.

"Leisure is an easily redefined term," Enjolras replied, setting the book down. "I hope you haven't had trouble preparing for tomorrow's hearings?"

"I am sure I maimed my hand with rewriting," Bamatabois groused. "So what's this I hear that the fellow who masterminded the attack at Notre Dame has finally proven to be a counterrevolutionary?"

"The diplomats were able to confirm some matters in England, and find some leads."

"I should like to testify in the trial."

Enjolras raised an eyebrow. "That would depend whether the prosecutors will consider your input as anything material."

Bamatabois paused and sighed deeply after a moment. "All I have are the threats he sent to my party."

"Those may be more useful than an eyewitness account of the  _aftermath_  of the attack at Notre Dame," Enjolras pointed out. "I'm not handling the case; that matter is with Feuilly, Blanchard and a whole other group of individuals who have more right to it. They were supposed to be at the Palais de Justice today."

Bamatabois gritted his teeth. "Then tomorrow for me then. I only hope I'm not too late to contribute." He checked his pocket watch before nodding to a woman who was just entering the shop. "Forgive me; I was a little sidetracked," he said to this rather short stranger.

"It is no problem, Citizen," the woman giggled. She paused when she saw Enjolras. "Wait, don't tell me your name; I know you from someplace...you're Citizen Enjolras, of course!"

Enjolras nodded. "I do not believe we have met."

Bamatabois colored deeply at his companion's antics. "Enjolras, meet Citizenness Simone Moreau. Citizenness Moreau, may I introduce my colleague, Enjolras."

"I have heard of him already," Simone prattled on. "Eponine is a friend of mine; she has mentioned you before of course. She's someplace nearby; we came here after the meeting at the Place Vendome. I should tell her you're here."

"I s'pose you should have said that a moment ago," Eponine chimed in from the doorway of the book shop. She smiled widely at Enjolras. "I thought you and Feuilly would be gone the whole day."

"So did I, but as to why that is not the case, I will explain elsewhere," Enjolras replied.

Eponine bit her lip. "Well, I have something to tell you too."

Simone laughed merrily. "Oh she definitely does—"

"And don't you say a word about it; I have to tell him myself! You and Citizen Bamatabois will be fine without me now since I am in your way," Eponine warned.

Enjolras had to keep a straight face when he saw both Simone and Bamatabois go very red. "A very creative way of forcing an interlude?" he asked Eponine as he took her hand and accompanied her out of the shop.

Eponine gave him a conspiratorial look as they began walking in the general direction of the Quai Saint Michel. "I have to do it, or they'll never get talking. She's taken by him, and I s'pose him by her, but maybe not so readily!"

"When were you so interested in matchmaking?"

"It's only because I know them both a little. Anyway I have to pay Simone out for something."

"Do I want to know what it was?" Enjolras asked as they reached the riverbank. There were fewer people here; only a few beggars and boatmen frequented the area since most of the shipments of goods had already been dealt with hours ago.

"I'll tell you. But you tell me your story first, since mine is a bit of a long matter," Eponine said, leaning against a slightly rusty railing. "How did it go with you, Feuilly, and Blanchard?"

"We ended up visiting La Force; Blanchard accosted Magnon," Enjolras said.

"Did you talk to him too?"

"Not at length." There was no use in mentioning now Magnon's frustrated threat against them, especially given that there was much they still had to discuss. He cleared his throat before continuing. "Emile Stendhal also joined us. He's also filing a case."

"That will be the second time in a week you've been to the prison," Eponine quipped. "Stendhal putting up charges though...why is that?"

"I wondered if you could enlighten me about the matter. It seems as if his mother is unaware of what he has set out to do."

Eponine cringed at this. "That will be another fight then! I s'pose it's no business of mine, but it does get troublesome when I'm at my desk and they start yelling at each other, then Odette gets her nerves again, so she has to ask for my help." She sighed deeply. "So you will have to be a witness at the trial, I think? You know a great deal."

"It is highly probable. I'll find out tomorrow or shortly after."

"He ought to be afraid of what you will have to say; that alone will make sure he won't get out of La Force for a very long time."

"The consulate has a more damning testimony in that regard." He touched her shoulder lightly. "While we were there, Inspector Perrot and his men brought in Duchamp. He was just arrested on the city's outskirts," he informed her.

"Oh?"

"Yes. There are no details yet about when he is to be tried."

Eponine nodded. "I s'pose I'll have to give a testimony there?"

"It may be unavoidable in your case," Enjolras said seriously.

"If I could write about him, I could say something about him in a court," Eponine pointed out. "That is of course if the judge won't find it ridiculous?"

"Probably not. You are after all at the age of discretion," Enjolras said. "Now what of your news?"

Eponine squeezed his hand and smiled. "We elected officers for our group today since we're registering as a club tomorrow. Allyce-that is Citizenness Legendre- is now the chairperson. I was nominated too and the vote was close, so now I'm the assistant chairperson. Claudine is the society's secretary."

It took him a moment to realize what she had just said. "That is momentous," he remarked at length.

"You really think so?"

"To my knowledge, nothing of that sort has happened in a number of years."

"I don't think everyone like Simone knows that. She's the one who nominated me, and Musichetta seconded it. I didn't think I'd want it a little till it actually happened." She smiled more excitedly. "I'll be doing so much! I think I can manage, even with everything I have to do on most other days." She bit her lip as she looked at him. "It's not getting out of my place, I hope?'

Enjolras' brow furrowed. "Why would it be out of place?"

Eponine shrugged. "That's what some people will think, I know it. There's a paper already saying that sort of awful thing about Claudine since she and Combeferre published something together."

"In principle, there is nothing wrong with it, even if it is out of the ordinary," he pointed out. He could already picture all the potential headlines once word of this group got out, alongside with all the recent developments both in the judiciary and the legislature. Then of course there would be all the questions cast about in the assembly; he was not the only legislator or committee member connected with the leaders or members of this new group. ' _Days for vultures indeed,'_ he mused. There was no way he could protect her from the impending storm.

"Well this could mean some sort of trouble for you too," she continued, her tone now turning pensive. She bit her lip again. "Can you stand it? You already have so much to worry about."

"At this point, any move will excite comment and controversy," he said bluntly. He ran his thumb over the back of her hand, feeling her shiver slightly under his touch. "You have the right to assemble and engage in political activities-it's only logical since after all you have the duty of suffrage."

"I don't want things to go badly for you because you think that way," Eponine replied. She took a deep breath. "I don't want people to say horrible things about you just because of me. Well they might already do, and it's only going to get worse when everyone knows what I am about. Might you think a little differently then?"

Enjolras looked down, already feeling the gravity of her words. Inasmuch as Eponine had perceived the situation very accurately, he knew better than to simply accept it for what it normally would play out to be "It does not diminish my regard for you. On the contrary this can only increase my esteem for you and your work," he said at last.

"What?"

"Do you remember when I said a little less than a month ago that I wasn't going to deny you? That you're not the sort of person who is meant to be hidden?" he asked. He let out a breath of relief when he saw her smile at the memory. " _This_  is what I meant."

"Are you sure? Neither of us expected that these things would happen."

"Maybe not so quickly," he admitted, reaching out to brush her hair out of her face. "You would never be content to simply observe or stay quiet. You like having a hand in things, and the impact can be, or rather is already astounding."

"You'll never have a day or a week of peace then because of it," she said as she drew closer to him. "Do you really want that?"

"It's a price to pay, but I will not regret it," he replied firmly before he kissed her hand. "That is if you want this as well?"

"I'll feel a little better if you'll be there," she said, leaning in so that her cheek was almost resting on his shoulder. He ran his fingers lightly over the nape of her neck before slipping his hand down to her waist, knowing this was as close as they could dare to be in public. "You're not the easiest person to be connected to either," she added after a while.

"Eponine, I think that is an understatement," he said, looking her in the face. In that moment she no longer seemed to be a young girl, albeit one hardened too much by life. ' _She has not been that way for some time,'_ he reminded himself as he took both her hands in his.

"You're also the bravest person I know." She slipped her fingers around his. "We'd better get back soon to the Place Saint-Andre and finish things there. I s'pose you'll want to get that book, and I just realized we're almost out of paper at home."


	64. Chapter 64: Right at a Snail's Pace

**Chapter 64: Right at a Snail's Pace**

_March 3, 1833_

_Aix-en-Provence_

_My friend,_

_I must apologize for not having written sooner. In fact this letter may appear hastily written; my penmanship is not as fine today as I wish it to be. I hope you understand, since you are as busy a woman as I am. However I will not bore you with details of life in Aix; Louis will relate more of them in his letter to Antoine._

_I congratulate you on you and your friends' filing that initiative at the Hotel de Ville. I certainly expected such a great thing of you, as well as Citizenness Andreas, and as it turns out Citizenness Torres; how is it that I did not know of her connection to the Courgourde? As for your fellow author Citizenness Legendre, I have heard little of her but I understand that she is a key figure with the organizations at Les Halles. I believe that you could learn a great deal from her experience. Inasmuch as there are so many new things in Paris, it seems important for some radicals to still cling on to traditions and certain figureheads. I hope you have not found this out the difficult way._

_It would also be worth considering in this legislation the provision of special leaves for women when they are recovering from being in childbed, or up to when the child can be safely provided for. Not all employers may agree with it, but I believe it is necessary so that a woman may at least make arrangements for her child and regain her strength. It is an agony for a mother to have to simply give up the care of her child; a choice between that or losing her daily bread. How unfair a situation!_

_You can guess that a lot of people have asked me about you-mostly with respect to your work. Now and then though there are those who ask about you and Antoine. It cannot be helped, especially since Antoine has never paid attention to any girl in this town. If any gossip reaches you there in Paris, do not heed it. There are too many idle minds in this town, ears I'd like to pinch, and lips that I am sorely tempted to stitch shut on your behalves._

_I am sending along a small item you may find useful. It would save you the trouble of trying to fit everything in the pockets of your coats._

_Please write back as soon as you can, and remind Antoine to do so as well. There is much being talked about here that only you two can clarify. It would hearten me much and ease my worries a little._

_Sincerely,_

_Monique Enjolras_

This letter accompanied a simple red reticule. 'At least it is big enough to hold a small pencil and some coins,' Eponine thought as she tugged on the purse's fine drawstring as she exited a small stationery shop adjacent to the Pont Neuf. She wrapped the drawstring around her wrist, all the while keeping her taking care not to drop the large folder tucked under her arm. It was Monday, the 11th of March, the very day slated for the second round of hearings regarding all the petitions and legislation.

As she made her way down the street, she suddenly felt a hand grab her shoulder. As she wheeled around with surprise, she found herself confronted with a familiar though nervous looking face. "Azelma!"

"What are you doing here, Ponine?" Azelma asked in an undertone. "The Lafontaines are nearby, they might see you here."

"It's no business of theirs what I do," Eponine replied. Even so, she looked over her sister concernedly; although Azelma was dressed nicely with her hair curled and piled high in a knot, there was something furtive about her countenance. "So why are they in Les Halles?"

"Meeting friends they don't care for," Azelma replied. "They're nice enough to me, Ponine, but they aren't happy about my voting for you yesterday."

Eponine rolled her eyes at this bit of news. She glanced around, hoping no one would overhear. "I don't see why it's any business of theirs; they could have nominated someone else if they really wanted to. What are you looking for here?"

Azelma shrugged. "Cerise wanted me to get a new pen, or at least start looking for one." She looked down for a moment and took a deep breath. "How is Jehan?"

"He is well."

"Does he ask about me?"

"You should talk to him."

"I don't know how to  _begin_ ," Azelma said, her voice turning desperate as she wrung her hands. "I don't know why he'd want to have anything to do with me. I'm sure that if he gets called to say something in this upcoming case about Citizen Duchamp, he will mention my part in that."

"If I know him even a little, I can guess he won't really  _want_  to say a thing," Eponine remarked.

"Why?"

' _Don't you know?'_ Eponine wondered as she gave her sister an incredulous look. "If he really wanted to give you trouble, he would have done it long ago. Haven't you ever thought of it?"

"He's not the sort..."Azelma trailed off. "But how can I talk to him, after everything?"

"I s'pose you have to find a way to, maybe after this entire mess with the trial is over. I can try to find you a time and place for it, but the rest should be all your doing," Eponine suggested. She bit her lip as the bells from Saint-Merry chimed noon. "I have to be at the Hotel de Ville in a little bit. Maybe you'd like to come?"

Azelma shook her head. "I think Cerise might be looking for me soon enough. Are there pens in that place you just stepped out from?"

"A few," Eponine said.

Azelma nodded before hurriedly murmuring her goodbye and ducking into the shop. ' _Why is she so skittish?'_ Eponine wondered, moving to follow her. However the sight of the Lafontaines' carriage at the end of the road made her rethink this course of action, and so she headed back towards the direction of the Hotel de Ville.

She found Allyce Legendre and Claudine in a heated discussion on the far side of the Place de Hotel de Ville. Claudine gave Eponine a long suffering look. "Are you up to taking charge of presenting our work, or would you rather that Allyce do it?" she asked her friend.

"I already said I could manage it-" Allyce argued.

"I'm only giving her the option for it!" Claudine retorted. She looked squarely at Eponine. "So what do you wish to do?"

"I'll speak up if I'm asked. You both wrote a lot of it too," Eponine said, holding out the petition.

Allyce brusquely took the papers. "The hearing is on the second floor isn't it?"

"I think so," Eponine said as they began crossing the square. She caught sight of Claudine's pensive expression as she trailed a few paces behind them. "Is something wrong?" she asked, stopping to let her friend catch up.

Claudine sighed deeply. "I hope Allyce can control her temper. We had quite a bad time a little while ago when we went here to have the society registered."

Eponine cringed as she smoothed out the sleeve of her maroon dress. "Rude fonctionnaires?"

"That was only half of the problem," Claudine remarked in an undertone. "They're only afraid. That's what my father said before I left this morning. We—meaning him, me, and Francois, were discussing things. Of course Francois was worried again. I don't think that's ever really going to change."

"What did you say to him this time?" Eponine asked, remembering how months ago her friends had a falling out on this same issue.

"I had to remind him that I'd tended to him before when he was in trouble, and I wasn't too cross or sharp with him  _then_ , so I expect the same understanding from him," Claudine said triumphantly. "It was a good thing that my father was on my side."

Eponine laughed, imagining how that conversation might have transpired. "I hope Combeferre wasn't too angry about it."

"He understood the point I was making, but I think it will take him some time till he's fully settled with the fact. He can't help being too gallant and equating this situation with being at a barricade," Claudine pointed out. "In a way though, this is more treacherous."

Before Eponine could say anything, she and her companions were already in the lobby of the Hotel de Ville. It was a scene even more chaotic than she'd expected; journalists scurried here and there asking about news, a few deputies and visitors were engaged in lively conversation, while various bystanders heckled and commented loudly from the room's periphery. Some of these booed and rained down catcalls on seeing the women. "These bitches are going to bring a pox on the legislature!" one of the clerks sneered, giving Eponine a lewd look.

"And where do you s'pose a lady gets the pox from?" Eponine asked, not hiding her irritation. It was all she could do not to laugh at the clerk's astounded expression; clearly he had not been expecting any sort of reply

"A pox! I'm a respectable woman, I'll show you that!" Allyce hissed at the clerk.

"That as well as your  _Republique?"_ another man snickered, making an obscene gesture.

"Haven't you got work to do?" Eponine snapped. She could see that a crowd was gathering, eager perhaps to watch a conflagration or worse, a brawl. ' _I won't give them that,'_ she resolved, remembering now all of Cosette's advice with regard to dealing with such tense situations.

"Back off, all of you!" a familiar voice shouted. A stooped man stepped out from the crowd and made a slightly mocking bow to Eponine. "How have you been, my darling daughter?"

"What are you doing here?" Eponine blurted out. Had it not been for the light, she might have dismissed this as a trick of her mind. However there was no mistaking the spectacles, the ill-fitting coat, and the twisted smile from behind a gray beard.

Thenardier stood up straight as he regarded his child. "Why, can't I go about with respectable folk, like you like to do? Are you that ashamed of your father?"

Eponine bit her lip even as she could hear whispers starting about the group. She could not think of any good reason for Thenardier to be at the Hotel de Ville; the sight of him only worried her. "It's not my concern who you want to go about with, as long as you don't cause some sort of ruckus," she said.

"Is that all you have to say to me? Now that you have nothing to worry about, now that you go about to parties and are kept in a nice home by your wealthy lover, you think you can treat me like the dust on your shoes?" Thenardier asked.

"You did not do much better," Eponine retorted, even as memories of her family's time in the Gorbeau tenement flashed before her eyes. She felt cold again despite the fact she was dressed warmly, and it was all she could do not to rub her arms. She could see more familiar faces in the crowd, among them Bamatabois, Simone, and Mathieu; she could not bring herself to look at them. "Whatever brings you here, I want nothing to do with it. I have business of my own, it's urgent as you can see."

"You wicked girl, always thinking I'm up to no good!" Thenardier said in a dramatic voice. "I only meant to ask for some introductions; there is a good gent or two I must speak to, someone who can help me with a venture I have in mind."

"Which is?" Eponine asked. "Come now, aren't you going to say what it is? It cannot be anything so particularly troublesome," she goaded on seeing Thenardier hesitate.

Thenardier's eyes narrowed at her. "You're a hussy to demand it."

"I'm not a silly." She saw Thenardier raise his arm and she grabbed his elbow before he could strike. "Even if I don't have to say anything, there are others here who can," she said slowly.

"You wouldn't dare."

"I'll do it if I have to. I'm not afraid of it."

Thenardier shook himself free of Eponine's grip before spitting at her face and then stalking off. Eponine felt her stomach turn as the smell of tobacco and putrid saliva assailed her nostrils; she had to hold her breath as she fumbled for a handkerchief to wipe her face with. "I wish he'd just had some brandy instead!" she muttered.

Allyce looked from Thenardier's retreating back and then at Eponine. "Is he really your father?"

"It's not your concern," Eponine said, wishing at that moment that she could disappear. ' _He was always that way; he only calls you his daughter if he needs something from you,'_ she thought, feeling suddenly stung at this realization. The one consolation was that her father had not mentioned her siblings; she knew she could not trust herself to be civil if the conversation had taken that turn.

"Eponine, never mind him. You did the right thing," Claudine said, grabbing her friend's shoulder.

"I do hope so," Eponine replied more bravely. "I still look presentable, don't I?"

"You do. Now don't you start fretting; we all need you to hold it together at the hearing," Claudine admonished. "You've spent the most time with it, so you should be the one to face the committee."

"And get the members angry again, no doubt," Eponine quipped dryly, wiping her face again.

Claudine rolled her eyes. "They would only be angry if either you offend them, or you say something to worry them. I think in our case it would be the latter."

In a few minutes the committee convened, its members chatting boisterously among themselves while Citizen Bayard quietly reviewed the revised copy of the petition. The doctor's brow furrowed for a few moments before setting down the sheaf of papers. "How much of this petition did Citizen Enjolras write?" he asked Eponine.

"Not a word of it," Eponine replied. "He was busy with his own work, how could he have time for it?"

"Well then, how much of this did our paralegals write?"

"None."

Bayard nodded slowly. "An impressive comeback." He looked through the pages of the petition again. "Now I trust that you took the rest of the report into consideration when making your revisions."

"Those were only recommendations; there are some items we cannot concede or water down," Allyce cut in hotly.

"Naturally. This is why we have these sessions, Citizenness, so that some compromise can be made for the good of all," Bayard replied. "Now I see one of those questions you are so recalcitrant about is that about wages. Care to explain that, Citizennesses?"

"Would you prefer the practical standpoint, or that of principles, Citizens?" Claudine chimed in.

Bayard raised his eyebrows at her. "Go on then, Citizenness-"

"Andreas."

"Ah yes, Citizen Combeferre's...co-author, I presume?"

"Yes," Claudine said. "From a practical standpoint, businesses should provide just compensation for women, or it will fall to other institutions to help provide for their care and that of their families. The government is hardly in any position to provide for the welfare of so many families currently living in deplorable conditions owing to the discrepancies between wages and actual expenses. You can see the cost of this: the numbers of the ill and hungry, fewer children than there should be in our schools, and the crime that still persists in some quartiers. Unless the government is willing to impose higher taxes-a move which I doubt will be favoured by many-it has to fall to our business owners to do their part in the care of our workforce and help prevent the evils caused by this enforced state of mendicancy."

"And what of the philosophical point of view, Citizenness Andreas?" another man asked.

"The principle of equality," Claudine said. "For years men have organized to grant themselves just working conditions, and they were duly heeded. Why should women also be denied the same?"

Eponine could not help but grin at the astounded looks that the committee gave Claudine. ' _They can't throw Rousseau at her this time,'_ she thought, a notion which was duly confirmed by Bayard's moving on to discuss other provisions of the proposed legislation.

After an hour and a half of questioning, Bayard rubbed his temples and set the petition down on the table. "The report for this will be available by Friday. I trust you will be more...open- minded when it comes to your next revisions. We will convene again before the end of the month."

Eponine gritted her teeth at this. ' _That is far too long!"_ she thought, exchanging looks with her friends. "If we finish revising sooner, can there be a chance for an earlier meeting?" she asked.

"Unfortunately we cannot accommodate that request; there are other  _important_  matters to see to," Bayard said coolly as he got up from his seat. "This session is adjourned."

' _At least it seems as if they'll actually read the work this time,'_ Eponine thought ruefully as she and her friends left the room. "They were worse last time," she informed Claudine as soon as they were out of earshot of the committee.

Claudine shuddered. "I dread to think about it. Musichetta told me every detail; no wonder she was extremely upset."

"If they force us to follow their recommendations though, they have another thing coming," Allyce said with a scowl.

"I s'pose it depends who'll be more stubborn; us or them," Eponine remarked. "What time is it?"

"Not quite three in the afternoon. You should get a watch," Claudine replied.

"Maybe if this becomes a law, I'll have enough to save for it!" Eponine said. ' _I don't s'pose the other hearings have let out yet; there is no one else here,'_ she realized, looking up and down the corridor. Just then she caught sight of a dignified, elderly gentleman hobbling in their direction. ' _Why does he seem so familiar?'_ she wondered, especially when this man held up a hand by way of greeting.

"I see you don't recognize me, Citizenness Thenardier," this man said as he neared them. "Citizen Florentin Ouvrard, at your service."

' _The head of the Constitutionalists party!'_ Eponine realized. "Is there something I can help you with, Citizen?" she asked.

Ouvrard smiled graciously. "Nothing. I only came to wish you well with your hearing. I also have it on good authority that Citizen Enjolras' hearing also went excellently. One of my colleagues is on the committee, and he was more than impressed with the proposed legislation."

"I would have thought that you Constitutionalists would be against it," Allyce chimed in.

"Why would we if it is in the interest of preventing unnecessary executions and sentences?" Ouvrard asked. "In such cases, the color of one's politics does not necessarily matter."

"Well, did you have to come all the way here to tell us that?" Allyce asked irately.

"I thought she would want to know," Ouvrard said, gesturing to Eponine. "I owe that young man a debt I can never fully repay; he saved my life when no one else would," he told her in an undertone. He nodded cordially to the other two women. "Good day to you ladies. I am sorry that I cannot extend this conversation since I am needed elsewhere."

"Good day to you, Citizen," Claudine said. She nudged Eponine's elbow. "I take that you will be heading up to the offices then?"

"I s'pose, if only to see," Eponine replied. "I'm sure he'd want to hear how we fared, there's nothing wrong with that," she added, seeing Allyce's disapproving look.

"As long as he doesn't interfere," Allyce muttered. "We'll meet again on Friday evening."

"Understood," Eponine said. After a while she headed upstairs, to where she knew that the legislators kept up their personal offices. She felt a slight thrill as she went down towards the last door in the corridor; she'd heard Enjolras mention once in passing that his office was the furthest from the stairs. She stopped outside this door and smiled to herself on hearing the telltale rustle of someone leafing through various sheets of paper. She knocked twice and laughed when the door opened to reveal Enjolras practically gaping at her with astonishment. "Antoine, don't you want to see me?"

"I was expecting we'd meet a little later in the day," Enjolras replied candidly as he let her into the room. "How did you know I'd be here?"

"Citizen Ouvrard told me about your hearing going well, so I guessed the rest," Eponine said. She grinned as she looked around the room's simple but neat furnishings; everything here was as straightforward and elegant as Enjolras' apartment. Even if she knew that none of the furniture was new; in fact she'd helped him bargain for his bookshelves, she was still awed by how these things suddenly seemed less shabby in such a location. "Do you often receive visitors here?"

"No. I prefer to meet them someplace more conducive," Enjolras said. "How did the registration go?"

"I didn't see to that; Claudine and Allyce did. I think they managed it."

"What about the hearing?'

"Better than before. I s'pose it was partly because Claudine was there and she's difficult to argue with, but it helped that we wrote things in the way they asked us to," she replied. "Thank you for helping me with that," she added, reaching up to kiss his cheek.

"You're welcome, Eponine. On the other hand, I owe you a great deal; your critique of my work and asking me to simplify it proved to be more than useful," he informed her. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her soundly. "It was a vast improvement."

"I'm happy to hear it," she whispered, running her fingers over his jaw and up into his hair. She smiled when she saw him relax into her touch; it never ceased to amaze her that she could make him feel this way. "Maybe after the third reading, that petition of yours will be up for a vote."

"That isn't a guarantee, but so far the prospects are good. At the voting stage, it is still possible for representatives from elsewhere to raise their objections to the motion."

"They won't if they have even a little bit of sense," Eponine replied. She glanced towards the stack of papers on Enjolras' desk. "I should leave you to work; I still have my brothers to meet."

"If you can wait a few more minutes, I will accompany you," Enjolras said, touching her cheek. "I also have a meeting after this, at the Invalides."

"Ah, then it was good I came up here, since I might not have seen you again till breakfast tomorrow!"

"That, or later tonight, even if you have no reason to stay up too late again," he deadpanned.

"I simply want to see you especially I know you like seeing me," she teased, swatting his shoulder lightly before stepping away from him. She went to the bookshelf to peruse the titles there, all the while casting occasional glances at Enjolras as he continued to work. "I should let you know that my father was here at the Hotel de Ville. Now everyone knows I'm his daughter," she said after a while.

He looked up abruptly. "What was his business here?"

"He wanted an introduction to so-and-so. Of course I wasn't going to give it to him; I know he wouldn't do much good with it. People might ask you about that."

"Only busybodies will. The last time I had any official business with your father was when I was reviewing Citizen Valjean's case, and even then our encounter was hardly consequential."

"I don't want it to be a bad sort of surprise for you if anyone asks," Eponine said. She bit her lip at the recollection of the morning's vitriolic encounter. "He thinks I'm your mistress."

Enjolras looked her in the face. "You aren't. You deserve far better than that, as I've told you before."

' _What could that be?'_ Eponine wondered, suddenly feeling gripped by trepidation. An answer leapt into her mind but she shook her head; it was not possible for a man in Enjolras' position to seriously consider a woman like her as a sweetheart or anything more. Yet when had Enjolras been anything but serious wherever she was concerned? She buried her face in her hands to hide the blush that was rising to her face, even though she knew he couldn't see her since he was busy reading through a document he was about to sign.

However after a few moments she realized he was watching her with a look of concern. "Eponine, are you alright?"

She nodded quickly. "I was only thinking of what you said. It's awfully sweet of you to say it."

"I mean it," he said earnestly. "Maybe this isn't the usual...situation, but I believe that you're far more than simply an ally or a muse..." he began awkwardly.

Eponine smiled as she got up from her seat and went up to him, placing a finger on his lips. "I just wanted to know," she said, not hiding her bemused grin. Still, it heartened her to be a little more certain that there was far more than simple affection in the way he regarded her.

It was at that moment that a knock sounded on the door. Eponine stepped away and returned to her seat even as Enjolras got up to see who it was. "Hello Bossuet," Enjolras greeted.

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything..." Bossuet said, turning slightly red as he caught sight of Eponine. The bald paralegal was clutching a sheaf of envelopes in one hand. "It's just as well that Eponine is here; this is one less stop for me to make."

"What is going on, Bossuet?" Eponine asked.

"Summons for the trial. One for you; that's for the trial of Citizen Duchamp this Friday. Two for Enjolras: one for the Duchamp trial, and one for the Magnon trial," Bossuet said, holding out three letters. "There are summons also for Prouvaire, Grantaire, and a whole lot of other people. It's going to be quite tedious, unfortunately."

"The trial for Magnon is when?" Enjolras inquired.

"Wednesday."

"That's two days from now!" Eponine exclaimed.

"Yes, but the case has dragged on far too long outside the court; we might be risking acquitting him based on technicality if we do not proceed with the due process straightaway," Bossuet explained, scratching the back of his head.

"Point taken," Enjolras said, quickly pocketing the twp letters that Bossuet handed to him. "It's unavoidable, as you said," he told Eponine.

"I know, but have you still got the time for it?" Eponine asked worriedly. "One testimony is a great deal to make, but you have two!"

"It has to be done, Eponine," Enjolras said. His eyes were bright with determination mingled with quiet fury. "Olivier Magnon has been a threat for far too long to remain unanswered."


	65. Chapter 65: The Art of Avenging

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Since I have more time on my hands, here we go. Early update for you all. I'm taking some artistic license with the form of the legal proceedings here; this isn't a normal trial after all.
> 
> Trigger warning here for a reference to child abuse.

**Chapter 65: The Art of Avenging**

"It all comes down to vengeance and scandal. That is what will pack the galleries today."

Enjolras' eyes narrowed at Grantaire's remark. "To be more to the point they are here for a reckoning. This will finally put an end to a protracted inquiry."

"Curiosity does not lead to fury, but more likely to Tartarus," Grantaire replied, gesturing towards a window with a view of the agitated crowd milling about outside the doors of the Palais de Justice. "Vengeance is applicable for today's trial since people still remember that Magnon is connected to the incidents prior to the elections. Scandal is more fitting for this Friday."

"You speak as if you did not receive summons as well for these cases," Enjolras pointed out.

Grantaire gave him a lopsided grin. "I would only consider my testimony superfluous if we could have judges as astute as Apollo and Athena, and a defendant as besieged as Orestes." He pulled a folded newspaper out of his coat and shook it out to display a caricature of Magnon being led to the guillotine by a nubile Marianne. "See this very sorry rendering; the lines do not hold true here."

"An understatement," Enjolras said disapprovingly. "Magnon is only one link in this chain; his employers are still being sought out."

"A chain which goes back to Louis-Philippe?" Grantaire laughed.

"That cannot be ascertained," Enjolras replied. ' _The root of this matter may lie with more than the Orleanists,'_ he thought as he heard a hubbub from the crowd downstairs; someone had just opened the doors to the public. "We must proceed to the waiting rooms; you remember that the witnesses may not hear the testimonies preceding theirs, hence this temporary seclusion."

"An interminable bore; did you know that there are at least twelve witnesses called for the prosecution alone? Aside from us, Feuilly, Bahorel, Blanchard, Stendhal, and Alain Foulon, there are apparently some others who used to work with Magnon and were prevailed upon to give a word or two," Grantaire said, crossing his arms. "I shall find my feet rooted to the moldy flooring."

"All the same this is a necessary business, and the sooner concluded, the better. Much will hinge on your testimony," Enjolras said, clasping Grantaire's shoulder briefly before leaving the room. ' _His sobriety could not have been better timed,'_ he thought as he made his way to a small chamber two doors down from where he and Grantaire had been conversing.

Judging by the light, it had to be just past nine in the morning; the trial was slated to start at ten. ' _Nevertheless it is likely that the verdict will be pronounced after sundown,'_  he realized as he was showed into the room and directed to take a seat. The room he was assigned to was a warm and windowless cell; the only furnishings were a rickety chair and an equally wobbly desk. A dust covered lamp served as the sole source of illumination. ' _Even if I brought anything to read, I would not be able to work on it extensively,'_ he surmised. In keeping with the revised procedures of the courts, he had not brought any documents, papers, or even his pocketbook since any of these items could easily be construed as contraband. Of course this had the added effect of putting much of his day to waste, a prospect which already grated on him. Not even his constant mental review of his testimony with regard to Magnon's crimes did much to alleviate his irritation.

The truth was that the mere idea of another face to face encounter with Magnon filled Enjolras with a disgust deeper than any distaste he had previously felt for Grantaire, or if he wanted to stretch the point, his current revulsion towards Thenardier.  _'He is more than an assassin; he's a murderer of innocents and a danger to the State,'_ the young man thought grimly as he sat back in his chair. Fifteen civilians had perished in the Notre Dame assault alone; surely this was not the only instance wherein Magnon had been directly or indirectly responsible for shedding blood. Then there was the matter of the coded missives that he and his friends had intercepted at various times, clearly part of an insidious network extending from border to border. Somehow Magnon's capture had interrupted this chain, owing to the fact that since then there had been no reports of suspicious activity in various cities and provinces. Yet for how long?

In the middle of his reverie he suddenly heard the slight creak of the door opening, and he got to his feet in time to see Eponine stepping into the cell. She smiled impishly at him as she silently shut the door behind her. "It's already afternoon, didn't you know that?" she greeted.

"You're not supposed to be here," he said in a low voice as he took her arm. He knew there had been policemen and guards standing watch throughout the vicinity of the Palais de Justice. What if one of them had seen her?

"I know my way about, don't you worry," she replied even as she tossed her hat and her gloves on the desk. The dim light cast a warm glow over her face, making her cheeks seem more flushed than usual and bringing out even more the vivacious spark in her dark eyes. She was wearing a new red dress that she accented with a tricolor ribbon. Somehow Enjolras found that he could not easily avert his gaze or even come up with a response to her nonchalant words.

She laughed, clearly realizing that she had him speechless. "I also know you haven't had much to eat since before dawn so I brought you something. I've already eaten, so don't you ask about that," she added more convivially, pulling two small rolls of bread and a flask out of her coat pockets.

"Thank you," he said, realizing now how dry his throat really was. He was certain that the flask only contained water, so he drank down more than half of its contents quickly. "Aren't you needed at the Rue des Macons today?" he asked when he could speak more easily.

Eponine rolled her eyes. "Would you believe it? Emile  _never_  told Odette that he had to do with this case. She found out this morning, they had a row, I had to finish some of his work and that was all before she said we had to go here to make sure he didn't do mischief to himself. She's probably screeching at him now someplace outside the courtroom."

Enjolras smirked at the comic scenario Eponine's words depicted. "There might still be some seats in the gallery. You ought to find them as soon as you can."

She shook her head. "Not just yet. Don't you want to know what's happening?"

"I'm not supposed to know what they are saying in the testimonies prior to mine," he pointed out.

"It's a silly rule I think; you would find out eventually one way or another. I couldn't tell you all the exact words anyway," she retorted. "The journalists are talking about this huge plot Citizen Magnon was in, and some position promised to him by some émigré in England. Then someone wanted to make trouble in Verdun, but I s'pose it never happened because the message never got there and there were agents who had been watching carefully."

"That will do," he said. He motioned for her to be silent as the sound of conversation swept through the hallway, but all the same they went to the corner furthest away from the door. "Keep your head down. If Citizen Magnon sees you, he could very well say something," he warned her.

She bit her lip as she eyed him sceptically. "I'll be far away from where he's sitting."

"It's not a particularly big room; it's smaller than the assembly hall at the Hotel de Ville."

"Ah, well then! And what about you? You'll have to face him and I know you don't like it," she said, cradling his chin in her hands before she brushed her lips against his jaw.

"I'll manage. You shouldn't worry." He kissed her by way of reassurance, letting her bring her fingers up to tangle in his hair the way she'd taken to doing lately. Her lips parted gently under his, prompting him to hold her more tightly against him and bring his hands down to just above her hips. The sight and feel of her were intoxicating as always, but this time their closeness was mingled with the trepidation of being on the crux of something dangerous. It was this foreboding that he dearly hoped to banish for both of them, at least for the time being especially when there was so much at stake. It seemed as if she was of the same mind, judging by how she pressed light yet ardent kisses to his face and neck, pausing at times to let him capture her lips again, each kiss needier than the last. They only pulled away from each other when they heard the door in the adjacent room clatter open; the witness staying there was being escorted now to the courtroom.

Eponine caught her breath before she tugged on his hair affectionately. "I should go now; it will be your turn there in a while," she said with a confident grin before quickly donning her hat and then her gloves.

"Perhaps." He saw that Eponine's left glove was still askew, especially over her twisted fingers. He deftly took her hand such that their palms were touching and tugged the glove snugly past her fingertips, even as he heard her breath catch at this gesture. "Later, after the trial?" he asked as he let go of her hand.

She nodded gratefully before kissing him hard. "I'll see you then," she whispered against his mouth before she let herself out of the room.

Enjolras ran his hands through his hair and straightened out his cravat in an attempt to achieve some semblance of propriety before sitting down to finish the remainder of his meagre repast. It only seemed as if a few minutes had passed until the door opened again, this time admitting a policeman who was tasked to escort him to the actual proceedings.

A casual observer might have said that there was nothing out of the ordinary in the veneer of this courtroom. Enjolras, being an attorney, was quick to note the furrowed brows of both the defense counsel as well as the counsel for the prosecution, an elderly attorney designated as the 'state representative'; a necessary but provisional title given that this was a high crime in question and not a matter for a mere district court. He also noticed the temerity of the jurors seated off to one side, as if they were unable to look in the face the accused sitting between four armed gendarmes. This was in contrast to the furious hubbub and murmuring from the periphery and galleries, as if confirming Grantaire's observations of several hours ago. Only the judge, a former professor of his, seemed even remotely impassive. Although it was usual practice to show the witnesses out after they gave their testimonies, he saw that Feuilly, Bahorel, Grantaire, Blanchard, Emile Stendhal, Foulon, and all the other witnesses were still in the hall. Much to Enjolras' amazement, one unlooked for face was in this line: the bookshop owner Gustave Ravigard.

Yet despite the piercing, almost hot light from the new lamps all around the room, it still seemed as if an oppressive shade loomed where Olivier Magnon was seated. The accused was sitting up, his back ramrod straight and his head unbowed despite a livid bruise on his left jaw. He was wearing a neat striped smock and a dark blue cap. These marks of prison did not diminish the hard glittering venom of Magnon's eyes watching every person in the courtroom, especially the latest arrival. "How disorderly!" the assassin sneered, shaking his head.

Enjolras raised an eyebrow at this jibe, at least till he saw the presiding judge's eyes narrow at him. He saw Bahorel and Grantaire failing to hide their overly amused looks, while Feuilly quickly gestured to the angle of his jaw. Enjolras could feel heat rising up his neck and threatening to creep up towards his ears as it dawned on him what everyone was seeing on his skin. ' _Of all times for Eponine to come in with ink stained fingers,'_ he thought, gritting his teeth and smoothing out his cravat over the ink stains before turning to the official presiding over the oath that would begin his testimony. A quick glance towards the galleries was enough for him to locate Courfeyrac, Eponine, Marius, Leonor, and Odette; he already knew that most of their other friends would still be at work since this was still the middle of the week.

The judge nodded to Enjolras. "A great deal has already been said, Citizen, with regard to the dealings of the accused. Recall, Citizen, and then state briefly what you have personally witnessed of this accused man's doings and his communications."

Enjolras met Magnon's challenging expression for a brief second before turning to address the court. "It begins with a letter, delivered on the twelfth of January," he said. He detailed the nature of Magnon's cryptic missive series as well as the codes hidden in Ravigard's books and the documents that Emile and Marius had translated on various occasions. As he moved on to the events at Notre Dame, the attack at the Rue des Macons, the incident at the Lafontaines' soiree, and concluded with the rescue of Blanchard, he noticed how Magnon's eyes grew brighter and how at some points the beginnings of a sneer tugged at the corners of his dry lips. This was in dire contrast to the increasingly perturbed look on the faces of the presiding judge, the jury, and much of the gallery. In fact even Ravigard paled visibly and wiped at his face, his lips moving as if he was murmuring a prayer for forgiveness.

The judge rubbed his temples as Enjolras finished his testimony. "Are there any questions?" he asked, eyeing the counsels for the prosecution as well as for the defense.

"He's forgotten a few things here and there," Magnon laughed, slamming one hand on the chair. "Citizen Enjolras, why don't you tell them what I told you at La Force?"

Enjolras glared at the accused. "That is irrelevant to this case."

"It  _is_ relevant. Don't you lawyers enjoy motives?" Magnon mocked. "My motives are already well known to the court, what about yours?" He chortled at the stunned expression this elicited from his reluctant counsel. "Aren't you going to cross examine him about those?"

"The accused is  _ordered_  to comport himself properly and leave the cross-examining to the appropriate parties," the judge snapped.

Magnon eyed the judge contemptuously. "I demand freedom of expression!"

"I demand that due process continue," Enjolras retorted. He nodded to the counsels. "Please proceed with your cross examination."

The state representative tugged at his cravat before beginning a cursory cross-examination, followed by the even more perfunctory questioning from the defence. The revulsion and horror that had been a mere undercurrent at the beginning of the hour was now almost palpable; this and the increasing slant of the afternoon sunlight in the windows only gave more impetus to finish the proceedings as quickly as possible. After the close of twenty minutes, the presiding judge told Enjolras to take his seat with the other witnesses while the counsels prepared to present their pleas concerning the case.

Bahorel whistled at his friend. "Marble versus poison there! How could you withstand it?"

"I am convinced after today that this Magnon is a demon," Stendhal chimed in, crossing himself.

"This is not the time for superstition, Stendhal. I thought you were a man of science!" Bahorel said.

"He will indict himself for what he is soon enough," Enjolras replied, motioning for them to quiet down. ' _What will he say in his defense?'_ he wondered, seeing the defendant giving them all another challenging look. There was nothing in Magnon's countenance that suggested he would insist on his innocence or at the very least ask for clemency; it was not even the state of a man resigned to his fate, but rather one insistent on spitting on it.

The poor defense attorney spoke up first, albeit reluctantly, citing the existence of a grand conspiracy which clearly the accused could not have been the sole author of. The true root of the matter lay with individuals who were not on French soil; therefore it would be more appropriate to turn there for answers instead of letting the full brunt of punishment fall on Magnon. There was no denying that he had a part to play in some deadly schemes, but he was not personally present at the scene of any murders. He had been involved in assault and burglary, and certainly these would necessitate penalty but only to the extent currently provided in the law. He finished his speech by entreating the jury to consider a sentence commensurate with the crimes against property and person, and to refrain from exacting the penalty for the crimes of conspiracy against the government as well as treason.

There was no need to pronounce the word 'death'; it was present in the minds of many. Enjolras himself looked down, aware that he too was being watched owing to his recent work within the legislation.  _'He may have to remain alive so that he can unravel this mystery,'_ he thought. Nevertheless there was already a punishment outlined in the law, one that was there for the continued safety of the majority. Which end was to prevail?

Within a minute, the vitriolic state representative began his address, going so far at the onset to demand that his colleague state the facts for what they really were: Olivier Magnon was a traitor, conspirator, murderer, assassin and robber. He returned to France for the express purpose of toppling the government and he was not sparing with regard to the means of bringing this about. There was nothing mitigating in the circumstances of his deeds; he had entered into all of them willingly and had even gone so far as to embroil otherwise simple people in his plans. He had not only murdered but had also unsettled an entire populace and very nearly disrupted legitimate proceedings. He had only burgled because he could not kill, and had assaulted an upstanding lawyer for no particular purpose other than the act of killing. This was not explained by lunacy, extreme need, or any sort of duress; this was the mark of a malevolent individual. Therefore was the state representative's recommendation, citing the interest of the general good, that this Magnon be 'removed as threat' at the soonest possible time.

The judge had to raise his hands for order before too much noise could spread across the court. "What do you have to say to add to your defense?" he asked Magnon.

Magnon fixed the judge with a look. "I do not deny any of it. I must say, I do not understand why I am the one on trial here when I know that nearly all of the gentlemen who have testified against me have also killed with their own hands, have perjured and cheated and stolen all in the name of a revolution, and have taken on the additional crime of usurping legitimate authority. Shouldn't there be a trial for them, and not for someone who was merely ending a long exile on distant shores? This is a miscarriage of justice. Or are you so incapable of protecting your own that you would easily shoot at your own shadows?"

"Citizen-"the judge began.

"Didn't you ask for my reply?" Magnon asked. "Your Republic will sentence me as you will, but your characters are already registered in history. I am sure that if I had stopped only at letters, none of us would be here. It is only because I have threatened your lives that you take action; that shows you all to be an entire lot of cowards. So there is no matter of principle here, no question of your vaunted Liberty, Equality and Fraternity, but only that of survival."

"Citizen, it is imperative you return to the point immediately," the judge growled.

"I will; in fact I have a good many of them," Magnon said. His gaze turned to the witnesses. "I would have treated you well, Ravigard. Tell me, what sum did they give you to speak against me? Don't pretend to be brave, Stendhal. You're a milksop and the last pebble in the rockslide. Foulon, you are a thief of my papers; my breaking your arm was the least you deserved!"

These men went livid with these accusations; in fact Emile had to be restrained by his neighbours before he could launch himself at Magnon. The defendant gave them a toothy smile before training his eye on the rest of the group, adopting the manner of a condescending academic. "Bahorel, you are nothing but a keg of hot air in the department; with someone of your academic record and credentials I am amazed you have managed to find decent employment-wood louse and parasite that you are. Feuilly, oh you poor orphan; my dear cousin told me who you are. An overgrown gamin from the docks of Marseilles. So who is it you fight for? This Republic? Maybe it is because you could not save yourself or your brothers from being bent over the piers night after night with a club to your back-"

Feuilly cursed in Occitan while Bahorel would have flung a pen at the defendant if the gendarmes had not intervened to put Magnon back into his seat. "Have you anything  _pertinent_  to add, Citizen Magnon?" the judge finally asked sternly.

"Not for your purposes, Monsieur."

"Then the jury will decide on the verdict."

At these words a restless murmur began in the crowd; with such an impudent reply there was no doubt that a mere civil penalty was now out of the question. Enjolras could see his friends in the galleries conferring among themselves, perhaps wondering if the jury would really go as far as sentencing Magnon to death or the  _bagne_. He also noticed Emile's knowing, almost smug look; this was certainly what the young man meant as an exception to the principle. How many other persons were also of the same mind?

Shortly after this the jury handed down its decision, to be officially read out by the judge. "The jury unanimously agrees that the defendant Olivier Magnon is guilty of these crimes: conspiring with émigrés and agents to destabilize the government, fifteen counts of murder, five counts of assault, and one count of burglary. He will serve the sentence of a convict for life -"

A shout came from where Magnon had been seated; he had somehow overpowered one guard and had drawn a sort of blade from his boot. Before anyone could stay his hand he sprang forward and flung this knife at Ravigard, striking him in his shoulder. Amid the shrieks and exclamations from the galleries, three gunshots rang out from the rear of the hall, throwing the assembly into pandemonium.

Enjolras quickly glanced to where Foulon was directing some bystanders with caring for Ravigard, who was almost insensible with pain. Bahorel was already with a group of men fighting their way towards the rear of the hall. Feuilly and Grantaire were among those trying to help the spectators vacate the premises. The gallery was a scene of chaos; people were pushing towards the exits and a few had even taken the risk of climbing over the railings to reach the floor. As Enjolras ran towards where a commotion was starting near one of the doorways, he heard some furniture clattering to his left. He turned in time to evade Magnon lunging at him, brandishing a longer, bloodstained knife. Enjolras quickly dealt a  _fouette_  to his attacker's face, knocking him to the floor. He then swiftly grabbed the knife that Magnon dropped and held it away from the assassin's grasping fingers.

Magnon's bleeding lips were twisted in a sneer as his gaze travelled from the weapon to its wielder. "Do it then. You know it would be in self defence."

Enjolras stared at the assassin for a long moment, taking in the bloody visage that was in dire counterpoint to an unrepentant, glittering gaze. It was clear now what had to be done. He threw the knife behind him and then pushed Magnon down so that the assassin was on his face and then twisted his right arm behind his back. He dug his knee between Magnon's shoulder blades for added leverage, effectively impeding the man's attempts to get to his feet.

Enjolras looked up at the sound of footsteps and finally caught sight of Eponine, Courfeyrac, and a few gendarmes hurrying over. "Tie up this man and bring him back to La Force," he instructed the gendarmes. "He may as well start serving his sentence there."


	66. Chapter 66: On Testimonies

_A/N: And the second trial comes up!_

_To the Guest: That's exactly what Magnon was going for. Unfortunately more people are savvy nowadays as to the ramifications of executing him, so he gets thwarted. And yes, it's really the little things that matter for Eponine._

_To Iceflower: Oh snap indeed, and more here!_

**Chapter 66: On Testimonies**

It would have been an understatement to say that the aftermath of the Magnon trial was the subject of much discussion and commentary by nightfall. ' _So much that every single newspaper had something to say about it,'_ Eponine thought as she got a glimpse of the previous day's edition of the  _Moniteur_ , tucked under the arm of a carpenter standing ahead of her in the queue at the bakery on the corner of the Rue Jean Jacques Rousseau. She already knew that the broadsheet's front page had a long and prosaic article detailing the trial's proceedings, with an emphasis on its explosive conclusion. ' _That was already the most reasonable piece on it,'_ she mused as she counted out once again the money she'd brought.

She scowled as she got a whiff of the telltale tang of water gathering in the air; even at this early hour it already promised to be a stormy day. Knowing this did not do anything to ease up the disquiet that had been building in her chest for more than a day now. Today was a Friday, the fifteenth of March, and in a few hours she would have to take the witness stand at the trial of Christophe Duchamp. ' _Will anyone believe me?'_ she wondered as she stuffed the coins back in her reticule. She bit her lip as she caught sight of the people in the queue and some passersby looking her way. A good many gave her sympathetic, even cheery smiles, but there were a number who turned away swiftly and began exchanging furtive whispers. One wag even went as far as kicking a stone in her general direction, but Eponine deliberately sidestepped this and shook her fist at him, ready to let loose any invectives if he provoked her any further.

"You watch your manners there Girard!" the baker roared from his worktop. At the sound of this, the uncouth passerby slunk away, allowing Eponine to breathe a sigh of relief. The baker smiled warmly at the young woman. "Now don't you mind him, Citizenness. He's just forgetting he has a mother who bore and nursed him."

Eponine smirked as she emptied her reticule on the worktop. "I'll have the usual two loaves, and five pieces of brioche to add to that."

The baker pushed some of the coins back towards Eponine's hand. "The brioche is on me. Now don't refuse it, young lady. You're one of the people on this street without standing credit with me. Consider it a gift for the little ones, and a gesture of thanks for you and Citizen Enjolras."

"Thanks for what?" Eponine asked confusedly.

"For helping lock up that Royalist viper," the baker said, setting down the two loaves and the brioches on the worktop. "Of course I'd rather see him strung up for it, but who knows, maybe the police will find him useful."

' _Maybe for throwing a dagger,'_ Eponine thought, biting her lip at the memory of the courtroom and seeing her former employer Ravigard with a knife in his shoulder. "He's not going to make a show of himself on the guillotine. That's good."

The baker shrugged. "What is good for me is that he's not causing any havoc. Now good luck to you, and Citizen Enjolras. You two will need it."

"Thank you," Eponine said as she picked up the bread, knowing that he was referring to the upcoming trial. ' _At least he's discreet enough not to ask about it with so many people about,'_ she thought with relief as she raced back to the tenement. That would certainly have drawn more attention than she was ready to deal with at such an early hour.

As soon as she got in the door, she was greeted by the murmur of several voices complaining about something in the kitchen. ' _What is Grantaire doing here?'_ she wondered, recognizing one voice that carried over the rest. She stepped into the kitchen and saw that Grantaire and Gavroche were standing quite near the stove while Neville was picking at what seemed to be slivers of last night's cheese. Jacques was trying to wipe his face with a grubby handkerchief. All three of her brothers were still in their sleeping clothes while Grantaire had thrown his coat over a chair. "What are the three, no I mean the four of you doing?" she asked suspiciously.

Gavroche grinned at her. "The hens have laid something fancy," he said proudly, pointing to a pan that held just one freshly cooked omelette.

"You mean what eggs you boys did not put  _all over the wall_ ," Eponine groaned, noticing now the splatters of egg, puddles of oil and bits of cheese littering the place. The kettle was also set out to one side, reeking suspiciously of burned coffee. She gave Grantaire a withering look despite the laughter of her younger brothers. "I know you want to talk to Enjolras before the trial today, but this isn't the hour for it; he's still upstairs."

"I had news to precede today's edition of the  _Moniteur_. I had hoped to keep up with Iris and Hermes," Grantaire replied merrily.

"Those are messengers, not deities of the kitchen. I'm telling Nicholine what you did here," Eponine snapped, setting down the bread next to four eggs that had clearly been intended for this culinary misadventure. She caught sight of a carefully twisted piece of paper next to the food. "What is this?"

"The other thing I came here for; it's a note that came on the roundabout: from your sister to a milliner, then to Nicholine," Grantaire replied.

Eponine smoothed out the note carefully; even so it was difficult to read it owing to Azelma's newfound habit of embellishing her penmanship with flourishes. The missive was to this effect: ' _I wanted to go to the trial, Ponine, but Angelique says I shouldn't. I might cause a stir. I want to see you soon though so I'll be at the Hotel de Ville later- Azelma'._

"What did she say?" Grantaire asked.

"She won't be coming later," Eponine said before inspecting Jacques' sticky face and hands. "This will not do; it's time you had a wash," she muttered, scooping up her brother.

Jacques squirmed in her grip. "It wasn't my fault, it was Neville's!"

"I told you to hold the eggs, not to squeeze them!" Neville argued.

"Come on you two, not now," Eponine scolded before hauling Jacques into the small washroom near the kitchen. "You could have waited a little bit if you wanted omelettes," she chided him lightly as she doused a washcloth in some water.

Jacques sniffed as he held out his hands. "Neville said we should have our turn cooking since you and Papa take turns. Gavroche said that you and Papa will be busy trying to stop someone bad today."

Eponine shook her head before she began scrubbing Jacques' face and hands. "I've told you so before. I'm not your Maman. Enjolras isn't your Papa."

"Why are you my sister?"

"I just am."

"Where's my real Papa?" Jacques asked, pouting slightly. "Why did he leave us?"

' _I wish it was just a story of leaving,'_ Eponine thought as she inspected her brother's face, so akin to Gavroche's own during their early days in Montfermeil. "He just wants to be elsewhere, where the rest of us shouldn't be," she said at last. Hearing this from her lips somehow hurt, but it was the ache akin to that of drawing out a splinter, something that was quite necessary.

Jacques nodded slowly. "Will he come back?"

"He's not supposed to, ever," Eponine said quickly before letting him out of the washroom. As she rinsed out the washcloth, she heard laughter from the kitchen followed shortly by the sounds of Grantaire regaling Enjolras with some sort of story. When she returned to the kitchen she had to stop to take in the sight that greeted her. Enjolras was helping Neville and Jacques clean out all the dishes and pans they'd used in their misadventure, while Grantaire and Gavroche were wiping off the eggs that had gotten splattered on the walls. "How did you convince them to do this?" she asked Enjolras half teasingly, sliding her hand over his shoulders as she walked past him.

He smirked at her. "With a little difficulty."

Grantaire burst out laughing as he watched the pair. "Just like Marat's situation: no need for a priest or a notary." He guffawed more loudly when Enjolras glared at him while Eponine crossed her arms. "Like I was saying a few moments ago, the general assumption at the Cafe du Foy is that the conclusion of the trial of Magnon is hardly a conclusion. There are still two questions: how to best house him now, and who fired those shots at the back of the courtroom. Not to mention the rumor that the jury was paid off to spare him from the guillotine."

"The last part is nonsensical," Enjolras replied sternly.

"Yes but now that you and the rest let him live there is the problem of keeping him under constant guard, otherwise he may very well find his water poisoned one of these days," Grantaire said, sitting back casually. "Will he be allowed to eventually become a witness the way Citizen Ravigard was?"

"He may be persuaded to give information but he will never be a witness under oath since he is already convicted," Enjolras said as he began putting some of the clean pots and pans in the cupboard.

Eponine surveyed the remaining eggs and set about to making another omelette; one was hardly enough to feed even Gavroche. "Speaking of Citizen Ravigard, how is he? I know he lived at least."

"Still at the Val-de-Grace. It would be so much easier for him if the arteries could be filled up with wine to make up for nearly being exsanguinated," Grantaire replied. "As for the shots at the back of the courtroom, was that an overreaction?"

"No, a breach of the rules. No weapons were to be allowed to that particular trial especially," Enjolras informed them seriously. "It was no accident."

"The gendarmes will have to be careful today since there are so many important people who want to see the trial," Eponine noted with distaste as she carefully poked at the egg she had sizzling in the pan.

"More buzzards," Grantaire said. "The defense attorney, a nephew of the infamous Blondeau, was bragging that he can secure Citizen Duchamp's acquittal."

"He won't do it," Eponine said firmly. "So many people saw what Citizen Duchamp did and too many people know what happened to Citizen Paquet."

"It depends what the  _jury_  sees, as you might remember from what happened two days ago," Enjolras pointed out as he began cutting up some of the bread. "What the jury decides will depend on the strength of the evidence presented."

"It also depends on how they perceive the witnesses," Grantaire said nonchalantly.

Eponine swallowed hard, seeing the veiled warning in these words. "If they  _want_ to see that," she replied at length. After a hurried breakfast, Enjolras and Grantaire left to visit Prouvaire and see to some errands, while Eponine rushed upstairs to make sure her brothers were ready for school and to finish her own preparations for the day.

The disquiet had now built up into a sort of tempest; in fact Eponine could feel the beginnings of an ache in her temples as she finished up her toilette as swiftly as she could manage. She made sure to dress carefully for this debacle, eschewing her usual bright dresses for her more sedate blue work dress. To achieve some semblance of elegance she donned a more elaborate lace collar and tied a white ribbon around her waist. ' _I s'pose I could almost be a lady like this,'_ she decided as she quickly braided her hair and pinned it up in a knot. It would not do to confirm any notion of her being an unkempt harridan or worse.

Although she had been told to be at the Palais de Justice before half-past eight, owing to the trial being scheduled for nine in the morning, Eponine made sure to be at the Palais de Justice a whole quarter of an hour early. All the same, she found herself lost for words on seeing the crowd that had turned out to watch the proceedings. ' _It's even more than the trial for Magnon,'_ she realized, biting her lip as she prepared to brave the buzzing throng amassed near the steps. Before she could take a step forward, she felt a hand yank her arm. "Therese?"

"That's how to get in trouble, Eponine. You ought to try going in by the side doors; I'll help you get there," her friend advised in an undertone.

Eponine nodded even as she noticed Therese attempting to stifle a knowing giggle. "What is suddenly so funny?" she asked.

"Look at Marthe's collar; it's rather high. I know the exact reason for it," Therese whispered, gesturing to where Marthe and Bossuet were conversing with someone a few feet away. "She and Bossuet were  _together_  at the Palais de Justice during that trial last Wednesday, didn't you know?"

"I saw them for a while but I didn't notice anything since there was so much else happening," Eponine replied. Now it was all she could do not to redden at the memory of the moment she and Enjolras had prior to his testimony. ' _At least it was only ink we had to worry about,'_ she thought mirthfully as she followed Therese through the less crowded side of the square and to a side entrance of the Palais de Justice. Inspector Perrot was stationed there; he nodded to his cousin before personally escorting Eponine to the room where she would wait out the hours before being called to testify. Fortunately this time someone had thought to leave a jug of water and a single piece of bread by way of refreshment.

However Eponine could not bring herself to have more than a bite of the brioche she'd brought and a few sips of water; anxiety already served to banish hunger, thirst, as well as lassitude. As time dragged by she thought back on her friends, some of whom had already been troubled enough by this entire mess. There was Enjolras, whose name would probably be dragged through the mire if Duchamp was allowed to go free and exact his vengeance. Then of course there was Azelma, who had the most to lose now. ' _For them then. No one can tell me to shoo,'_ she resolved even as she heard the guard approaching the room to summon her to the trial.

She arrived at the courtroom in time to hear her name being announced and the collective gasp and murmurs that followed. "She's just a child!" a former general gaped as Eponine made her way to the witness stand at the front of the room.

The defense counsel threw a questioning look at the judge. "She cannot testify!"

"Citizenness Thenardier is already of the age of discretion," the wearied presiding judge said, waving away the complaint. He looked at Eponine for a long moment, as if trying to figure out what to do next. "Answer this court truthfully Citizenness: have you ever been convicted of any criminal offense?"

"None that I know of," Eponine replied.

The judge wiped his spectacles. "Then you may give your testimony under oath," he said, motioning for an official to commence the proceedings. After this the judge looked at Eponine again. "Please state in detail your previous dealings with the defendant and what happened on the sixth of March of this year."

Eponine bit her lip, now painfully aware of all eyes being on her. She could see most of her friends in the gallery; even Jean Valjean had accompanied Marius and Cosette to this trial. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Duchamp watching her intently, but she paid him no heed. A flash of gold at the other side of her peripheral vision was enough for her to decide against even glancing towards where the witnesses were seated. Instead she looked towards the jury. "I s'pose the trouble is that I didn't  _want_  to deal with him," she said, earning some chuckles from the court. "I only spoke with him two times before the fifth of March. The first was when I visited Citizenness Bayard about politics. That was at the Rue de Chevert, the twentieth of February or so. Citizen Duchamp was upstairs and he wanted to show off some pieces. I told him I wouldn't be able to purchase anything he had there."

Eponine had to pause since murmuring and some tittering had started in the gallery. She realized that this had come from where Angelique and Cerise Lafontaine were seated. For a moment she looked down to collect herself before continuing. "The second time was at his show, at the Rue de Berlin. I didn't mean to go there but I had to meet my sister there. Citizen Duchamp asked me if I was interested in getting anything, I told him I wasn't, so I left." It was as much of the truth as she knew she could tell without convoluting the story or implicating Azelma too strongly in it.

"What of the sixth of March?" the judge asked.

Eponine swallowed hard. "Citizen Duchamp sold a piece to my sister, but there was a question about the money there so I went with Citizen Prouvaire and Citizen Enjolras to clear it up. While we were there, Citizen Duchamp said he could settle it all nicely if Citizen Enjolras did business for him in the legislature. That wouldn't do as you all probably know, and we all told Citizen Duchamp so, and I also said that I'd write about it. Then that afternoon Citizen Enjolras and I were arrested because of what happened to Citizen Paquet. I didn't really know how much Citizen Duchamp had to do with it till later that evening, when we found his valet Citizen Bellanger at the Cafe du Foy. That's all."

The judge nodded before looking to the counsels for the defense and the prosecution. "You may proceed with the cross-examination."

The counsel for the prosecution looked up from his notes. He was a slim, almost ineffectual man who reminded Eponine of her friend Emile Stendhal on a bad day. "Did you ever discuss politics with Citizen Duchamp?" he asked.

"No. Not that I recall."

"Did you ever see Citizen Duchamp negotiate with your sister?"

"No. She told me as much though and she showed me the piece she bought. It was one of those he had been trying to ask me to buy," Eponine said. ' _That was an understatement though; she showed the entire city,'_ she mused.

"Where did you publish that article you said you'd write?"

"I gave it to a journalist friend, who brought it to every newspaper he could think of."

The attorney closed his notes smartly and set down his pencil. "Those were the points I wanted to clarify. Thank you, Citizenness Thenardier. "

Now it was the turn of the defense attorney to begin his questioning. He was a burly man who made every effort to appear imperious, but only gave off the impression of an overly cavalier dandy. His smile was condescending as he looked at Eponine. "That was a very pretty testimony, Citizenness. It seems though as if you cite a great deal of names-yes, I am aware some of them are present in this courtroom, but allow me to clear up this interesting web that Citizenness Thenardier spoke of. Were you alone when you first visited Citizenness Bayard and met the defendant?"

"I was with my friend Citizenness Claudine Andreas."

"Were Citizen Prouvaire and Citizen Enjolras with you on any of these visits?"

"Citizen Prouvaire also visited the show at the Rue de Berlin. That is all."

The defense attorney's eyebrows nearly reached his hairline. "And what of Citizen Enjolras?"

"Both times, he had work to do elsewhere," Eponine replied. "Didn't he say so already?"

"It's your testimony I am concerned with, not his," the counsel said. "You are friends with Citizen Prouvaire, I understand? Is he also a friend of your sister?"

Eponine bit the inside of her cheek. "He is."

"I am sure though that you would not say that Citizen Enjolras is merely a friend of yours. Are you by any chance in his employ?"

"Not at all."

"Then what? You have such an interest in  _his_ doings at the legislature."

"That isn't the only thing," Eponine replied quickly. "I don't s'pose you know or remember that I'm also working with a number of ladies on a petition of our own. I also did work for the  _Radicaux_  party before the elections, so it's not only one person's work that I'm concerned with."

"Ladies indeed!" the defense counsel scoffed. "You are involved with that new...group, aren't you?"

"More than involved, Citizen," Eponine said. "Is that a problem?"

He waved off her question. "No wonder you took it upon yourself to write that...expose. Were you asked by the gentlemen to write it?"

"No. It was something I thought of doing on my own," Eponine answered. ' _If only to save Azelma as well as Enjolras and Prouvaire,'_ she thought, even as she could hear murmuring in the galleries once again. She heard a chair scrape across the floor near where the witnesses were seated, but she still kept her gaze averted.

"It must have been rather taxing on your part, especially since you apparently have an occupation," the lawyer said, toying with his lapel. "You are employed at the household of Citizenness Odette Stendhal as her assistant?"

"In her shop if that is what you want to know; she and her son do translations. I copy out the finished work and keep the books in order," Eponine said.

"How rare for a working girl of your station and circumstances," the attorney said, looking to the gallery. "Who taught you such things?"

"My parents," Eponine shot back more acridly. "I don't know why you're so interested in asking about the rest of my affairs. I s'pose they have little to do with this case."

"Citizenness, I do hope you will see my point in a few minutes," the attorney said. "You are very young; hardly a child yourself and yet you are quite emancipated. Where are your parents?"

"My father doesn't concern himself with me and my sister and our brothers. My mother is dead. Since then I've been looking out for my siblings, especially the boys."

"I see. Well, if you were unable to afford Citizen Duchamp's pieces, why did you not resort to other  _resourceful_ means to acquire them?"

Eponine felt her face burn at this question, remembering now all the looks of pity during meetings, and even during her years on the streets. Her stomach twisted as she looked Duchamp's way and met the jeweller's hooded gaze, which she knew to be that of a mind busy with calculation. It reminded her of waiting for her father's orders as to where to bring his latest letters. She could feel the defense attorney's eyes roaming all over her, stripping her bare as if he had already thrown a few francs her way. Her fists clenched as she found her voice again. "I knew I shouldn't do it and I s'pose that should be enough. You've already poked into everything except the testimony. Maybe you should ask a little bit about it instead of about everything else."

The attorney gaped at her for a moment. "This girl should be thrown out of the court for contempt!"

"I believe the counsel has exhausted its questions. Please take your seat," the judge answered roughly. "You as well Citizenness Thenardier," he added more gently.

"Thank you," Eponine replied, somehow managing to still raise her chin as she said this. As she went to an empty seat in the row of witnesses, she allowed herself an angry look at the attorney who was now conferring with Duchamp. Nothing could ever banish from the minds of the onlookers all the insinuations in this botched cross-examination.

Jean Prouvaire, who was seated nearest to her, gave her a kind smile. "You had them. That's why he did it," he told her in an undertone.

"Is it that obvious?" she asked wryly. She saw Enjolras two seats away; his face was impassive but for the way he clenched his jaw, a sure sign of a fury he was holding in. Their eyes met and the anger there gave way to concern. She shook her head and mouthed 'later', and smiled briefly when he gave her a slight nod by way of reply. ' _It's a good thing he didn't say a word,'_ she mused. Not only would it have made the cross-examination take a dire turn, but she was sure she would have been far too mortified by such an intervention even from him. She could no longer bring herself to pay much attention to the prosecution and defense counsels making their final pleas regarding the case nor even to Duchamp's plaintive, ingratiating speech before the jury conferred to make its decision. Instead she found herself picking at her gloves or watching the other people in the courtroom chatting or even surreptitiously eating and drinking.

At last, the jury turned over its decision to the judge. "The jury has voted to convict Christophe Duchamp as guilty of the charges of bribery and murder. He will serve the sentence of a convict for life in La Force from this day onwards. This trial is now concluded," he read out loud over the applause and catcalls of the gallery. Not even the repeated banging of the gavel served to restore order to the crowd. Several gendarmes approached Duchamp to escort him out of the hall while the lawyers for the opposing sides crossed the room to shake hands.

Eponine had to wiggle her right foot a few times to banish the feeling of pins and needles before she stood up. Almost as soon as she did this she caught sight of Claudine and Leonor rushing down towards her, holding up a folder. "Eponine, you have to see this now!" Leonor shouted, practically beaming with excitement as she pushed through the crowd.

' _The committee report!'_ Eponine realized. She glanced over her shoulder to where Enjolras, Prouvaire, and Grantaire had gotten caught in a conversation with Auguste Lafontaine and some other officials before shrugging and hurrying to her friends. "What does it say?" she asked excitedly.

"We can expect an excellent third hearing," Claudine said, opening up the folder. "There are some points we will still have to fight out such as the wage scheme, but on the whole the recommendations are good."

Eponine flipped through the pages of the report, noting some of the less acrimonious words there. "Shouldn't we meet with Allyce about this?"

Leonor shook her head. "She's got a relative to see to. She wants us to meet tomorrow."

"I s'pose I can manage to be there," Eponine said. Even so she was silently thankful for this development; she was not sure how much more argument she was willing to stand over the next few hours. "Now that this case is over-"

"We're celebrating," Claudine said with a grin. "You did admirably; Enjolras' testimony shook the court enough and you corroborated his. Though I'd like to show the defense what contempt really is."

"We should tell Enjolras and the others then. Where could they be?" Eponine asked.

Leonor gestured to the door. "Probably out there in the corridor."

Eponine followed her friends out of the hall, only to lose sight of them when they unexpectedly ran into a group of chatty dandies. Gritting her teeth, she peered round a bend in the hallway only to catch sight of Enjolras still in the middle of a heated discussion with Auguste. With Auguste were Angelique, Cerise, and a few other acquaintances of theirs. Somehow seeing them was enough to root Eponine to the spot and she stayed in a corner to wait till the others left.

"After such a brilliant endeavour, you have certainly earned the distinction of being the man of the hour," Auguste said to Enjolras. "For sure you will have little difficulty pushing your legislation."

"As well as in making an advantageous match. It is something you should definitely consider," Angelique chimed in.

"I am afraid I do not follow what you mean," Enjolras said convivially.

"Oh you surely cannot consider still staying with  _her_  after the spectacle of today," another woman remarked. "A young man with your prospects should certainly be matched a woman who will be an ornament to your station as opposed to a millstone."

"You are too free to comment on personal affairs, Citizenness," Enjolras replied, his voice now terse.

In the corner, Eponine shut her eyes, willing herself to stay calm before she risked another peek around the hallway. Aside from the anger now building in her chest, she also felt panic creeping up her limbs. ' _What is he going to say?'_ she wondered, suddenly feeling even more exposed and bare than she had at the courtroom.

Meanwhile the conversation still continued. "I mean no offense of course, but you did disappoint a great many ladies at the soiree," Auguste laughed. "The lady has her merits, yes, but that is not an opinion shared by all. A decided disadvantage, my friend."

"If advantage is the only question here, then I have the advantage by being associated with a woman who has proven her courage and talents several times over, and possesses a strength that is all too rare nowadays," Enjolras retorted firmly. "However this is not merely a question of advantages. Good evening to you."

' _If he is not merely looking for advantages, then what else?'_ Eponine thought, resting her palm against the wall for support as she heard some indignant reactions from the group. She swallowed hard on hearing footsteps in her general direction, and made ready to leave her hiding place if necessary. Before she could take a step, she realized that the footsteps had stopped and that Enjolras was standing a few paces away, his eyes deep with a look that was both quizzical and worried. She met his gaze and took a deep breath. "I heard, Antoine."

"I know." He reached for her hand to pull her out of the corner. "All of it?"

"Yes, well at least from the part of an advantageous match," Eponine replied, stepping closer to him. She wrapped her fingers around his, determined not to let go regardless of what would transpire next. "I could figure out the advantages. But what else could there be?"

Enjolras' eyebrows shot up. "I thought you would have guessed by now, especially after our discussion a few days ago at the Hotel de Ville."

"You're not the easiest person for me to guess about," she said. Somehow it was so easy to talk to him this way, even if she felt as if the ground could slip out from under her feet at any moment especially after what transpired earlier in the day. "And now you'll have those sillies confused about exactly what you mean," she added.

"The point is that you should have heard this all first, Eponine," he said, his voice now dropping in the way it did when he had to tell her something meant for her ears only. It was enough to send a shiver up her spine, more so when he let go of her hand and lifted her chin so that she had no choice but to look at him. He kissed her forehead lightly. "I love you."

She grasped his palm, if only to be certain that she was not dreaming. "You would do that?"

"Yes. I do not want to give you anything less," he said, his voice firm with conviction.

Eponine smiled at last as she began running her hands through his hair; there was no way she could doubt his earnestness at this moment, no more than she could doubt the wonderful lightness and warmth she now felt flooding her entire being. Suddenly she found she could almost laugh even at the sordid events of the day. "I am happy you finally did tell me. You would have some day, I'm sure."

"Admittedly there might have been a more opportune time for us to have this discussion," he pointed out a little apologetically.

"Antoine, I s'pose you should know by now that we  _never_  have such a thing as an opportune time!" she laughed before drawing him down for a kiss, determined now to convey what he should have also heard from her all along.


	67. Chapter 67: Rifts and Ties

**Chapter 67: Rifts and Ties**

_March 19, 1833_

_Aix-en-Provence_

_My son,_

_I'm writing in order to inquire if you are well, as well as to ask you to please clarify several recent turns of events. A number of stories and reports have reached us here in Aix, through the newspapers as well as through word of mouth and the drawing room, regarding what you and your friends have recently been embroiled in. I will not repeat the news articles here, but you must know that the Magnon trial has caused some short-lived suspicion with regard to the sympathies of some individuals and factions, especially the de Bracy family, but that matter has since been cleared up. A few of the Radicaux members here are surprised that you 'showed mercy' to that horrible man, especially since he's proven to be a danger to your personal safety. Others say you were paid off to do it. On the other hand your staying your hand has also served to dispel the rumors that you're going down Robespierre's path._

_As to that matter concerning the jeweller, I must admit that your letter explaining the situation was a little delayed, and I initially learned the story through other means. To be frank, I was alarmed till your letter and Eponine's article clarified the issue. There is talk going about as to your friend Prouvaire's motivations for testifying; is it true that he is particular friends with Eponine's sister and he intended to save her from some terrible state of affairs? Nevertheless everything else I have heard since then affirms my hope that your father and I raised you well enough, such that you would not compromise your integrity over a matter such as wealth. Your testimony was said to be the most damning of all, and it may as well help set a precedent with regard to handling some civil offenses in our courts. This affair also confirms my good opinion of your friends and associates. Extend my congratulations to them._

_If there is one thing I find fault with in your handling of all this controversy, it is that you are still sorely lacking in gallantry. How could you allow Eponine to be exposed to the humiliation and calumny that would arise from her testifying? Couldn't you have prevented your colleague from vilifying her with his questioning? I will not stand for it, since you know she may as well be a daughter to me now. I know that her word was valuable and that you two are not strangers to defusing scandal, but you must remember that she will always have more to lose than you do in terms of reputation. I sincerely hope that some new intrigue, preferably from the neighbours, will soon better satisfy the common urge to gossip. I have written to her already to convey my regards and support for her actions, and at the same time I must remind you to be more solicitous to her. You both have proud characters, but that does not spare either of you from feeling these matters deeply._

_I insist you write back as soon as you can. Gossip runs too quickly here, and I am intent on being perfectly equipped to return some sense into the drawing rooms._

_Sincerely,_

_Your mother_

This letter arrived in Paris on the 23rd of March, more than a week after the conclusions of the Duchamp and Magnon trials. ' _That will hopefully be the last inquiry I will have to answer on these matters,'_ Enjolras mused as he headed towards the Rue de Babylone, where he had to make an important call to clarify a report recently circulated at the Hotel de Ville. It was just past nine in the morning, a late start for him even on a Saturday.

As he walked, he happened to catch sight of a group of young law students laughing over the latest copy of the satirical gazette  _Charivari_. Enjolras gritted his teeth when he saw that the front page was emblazoned with a lengthy 'retelling' of the Duchamp trial. It seemed that it would take far more than eight days till the press would consider this topic exhausted, which was more than he could say for himself and most of the other individuals connected with this controversy.

The truth was that his mother's letter had touched on the matter all too accurately; while the trial had achieved its legal end of prosecuting a murderer and conniver, it had the unintended effect of further fuelling the tumult and gossip surrounding the ongoing work at the legislature and the committees, as well as the efforts of  _Les Femmes Pour Egalite et Fraternite_. More than once over the past week, Enjolras had come home with a headache from having to deal with annoying queries from journalists and detractors in committees. There was also one particularly trying night when Eponine had been on the verge of tears after receiving a particularly vicious missive. Enjolras was sure that similar scenes had been part and parcel of the week for his friends and colleagues. ' _The only ones who've profited from this excess in intrigues are the publications and presses,'_ he mused as he arrived on the corner of the Rue du Bac and the Rue Babylone.

He was met at the barracks' door by a sergeant, who greeted him with a stiff but cordial nod. "Colonel Tolbert will see you in a few minutes, Citizen," he said. "He is in the commandant's office; do not mind the rest here," he added as an afterthought.

Enjolras raised an eyebrow as he followed the sentry into the building. "Has there been some sort of trouble, Citizen?"

The soldier blanched before glancing over his shoulder and shrugging. "We only have a busy day in the infirmary," he replied briskly over the sound of a door suddenly slamming open.

"Enjolras! What are you doing here?" Joly called as he stepped out into the corridor. The doctor's shirtsleeves were pushed up past his elbows, and his hands were drenched with fluid.

"Calling on the commandant on a matter of inquiry," Enjolras said, going to his friend. "How about you?"

"Their surgeon is ill and there has been a run of the flux." Joly said, wiping his hands on a very soiled handkerchief. "Among other illnesses; the infirmary is full."

"Well I should not keep you any longer from your patients. Let me know if there is any way I can be of assistance," Enjolras said, noticing the sentry signing to him from the end of the hall. He saw Joly nod gratefully before retreating back into the infirmary, and only then he proceeded to the office where he was set to meet the head of the regiment.

Colonel Tolbert was the sort of man that Courfeyrac would have called a walking caricature of the army officer: moustachioed, hair slicked back, plump and with far too many decorations on his lapel. "To what do I owe the honor of this visit, Citizen Enjolras?" he asked in a booming voice after the usual courtesies had been exchanged. "I find it pleasing that you have taken an interest in matters of defence."

"It is only a matter of clarification," Enjolras replied cordially. He brought out a letter and smoothed it out on the table. "I have with me a set of figures sent from the regiments stationed near Verdun and Metz, stating their expenses and asking for an increase in the proposed allocations for the military. I wish to know if these numbers are commensurate to the needs of an actual garrison, such as this one, before the legislature takes a vote on it," he said.

Tolbert surveyed the report for a few moments and then burst out in rough guffaws. "Citizen, these are  _modest_  expenses for a regiment, especially one residing in Paris. The board and lodging of nearly a hundred alone is quite taxing, what more the salaries and their armaments?"

"You are referring to armaments for practice and for reserve; we are not in a state of war. The allocation for these appears inflated," Enjolras pointed out in a level tone. ' _I've bought enough gunpowder to know at a glance when it is overpriced,'_ he thought.

"Some regions are in a state of unrest; you yourself know the threat that counterrevolutionaries still pose," Tolbert said, putting his large hands on the table. "I forgot to mention expenses for illnesses and wounds, especially here what with the rate the men are-"he began before a series of knocks sounded on the door. He cursed as he checked his pocket watch. "I almost forgot about you there, Captain Gillenormand. Please come in."

In a moment Theodule Gillenormand strode in, wearing a bright new uniform and holding his hat under his arm. His mustache twitched when he caught sight of Enjolras, more so when he was only met with an impassive nod. "You sent for me, Colonel?" he said as he saluted Tolbert.

"Yes, there is a revision I need you to make in the schedules," Tolbert said gruffly. "By the way Captain Gillenormand, let me introduce our guest Citizen Enjolras. Citizen Enjolras, may I introduce one of my recently promoted officers, Captain Theodule Gillenormand."

"We've met," Theodule said stiffly.

Tolbert glanced curiously at the two men. "I did not know you were acquainted."

"His cousin is a colleague of mine," Enjolras cut in coolly.

"A smaller city than I thought," Tolbert mused aloud just as a loud shout came from upstairs. He cursed again as he made his way to the door. "This will only be a minute; make yourselves comfortable," he said before quitting the office.

Enjolras immediately busied himself with reviewing the paper he and Tolbert had been discussing, checking for any other numbers that needed further clarification. In the meantime Theodule began to tap his feet, slowly at first then more and more restlessly. "This should not be any of your business," Theodule said at last.

"This report was forwarded to the members of the legislature to take into consideration in an upcoming vote," Enjolras replied.

"A mere justification for unpaving hell last summer," Theodule muttered.

Enjolras looked at Theodule sternly. "You speak as if the military is separate from the citizens."

"We do not live as most of the populace does," Theodule replied, suddenly sounding uncomfortable at having started this discussion. "It's a necessary sacrifice, out of duty."

"A sacrifice which does not necessitate absolute secrecy," Enjolras pointed out. "There was a time when the citizenry took active participation in the affairs of the military, not just in conscription but even in the acquisition of resources. Nowadays that may not be the case but that does not prevent citizens from ascertaining that the taxes they pay and that the trust they place in the military are not misplaced."

For a long moment Theodule looked down, clearly not having expected this reply. He tugged at his moustache pensively before giving Enjolras a pointed look. "I asked her to marry me. Did you even know of that?"

Enjolras raised an eyebrow. He had already half-expected that the lancer would raise this particular point of contention. "I know. Now what of it?"

Theodule shook his head bitterly. "Eponine would have said yes if it weren't for you. I would have protected her. You on the other hand destroyed her reputation by putting all sorts of ideas in her head and pushing her into politics. It isn't her world, it isn't proper for her to do this. For all intents and purposes, you all but ruined her."

"If you have something to say about her doings then you should discuss them with her directly," Enjolras retorted curtly.

"She is now among the most controversial women in Paris. I know what is being said about her in my grandfather's drawing room, especially when my cousins are not around. When she tires of this political excitement she will be left without any prospects," Theodule continued. All of this was said without looking Enjolras in the face. In that respect, the lancer had learned something of caution.

Enjolras gritted his teeth, now thoroughly annoyed at the turn this discussion had taken. If ever it only brought him back to his recollections of the Duchamp trial, when he could only watch as Eponine was being questioned. He knew that she had avoided looking his way in order to give less cause for anyone to drop a rude comment or two. However he had still seen how her face colored and her eyes flashed with anger at the defense attorney's humiliating questions. It had taken every ounce of his self control to continue to feign impassivity in those circumstances, if only to avoid shaming her. "I would advise that you refrain from further pressing this discussion," he said after a moment, his tone one of cold fury.

Theodule crossed his arms. "She will eventually realize her place. By then it may be too late for her."

The office door swung open again and Tolbert sauntered in, still trying to catch his breath. "I am sorry for the interruption. Why are you so cross, Captain? You look like the time you were upset about that girl who refused to accompany you to Dijon."

Theodule reddened deeply and muttered something under his breath while Enjolras just managed to contain a smirk. "We only had a slight disagreement on politics," he replied gruffly.

Enjolras carefully folded up the report he'd been reading. "Colonel, I would like to see an account of this garrison's expenses, in order to better examine the comparisons we were just discussing," he said cordially to Tolbert.

Tolbert nodded. "That would be wise. My second in command will prepare the list for you immediately if you wish. Captain Gillenormand, I have written down the new assignments and designations. They are here on my desk," he said.

Theodule saluted before going to see the report while Enjolras and Tolbert left to speak to one of the commandants. Within the next hour, Enjolras had the list he needed, in time to catch Joly just as he was leaving the infirmary. "Will you be heading back to the Bourbe?" Enjolras asked his friend.

Joly shook his head cheerily. "I'm meeting Musichetta directly after this. What about you?"

"I have another appointment," Enjolras said as they left the barracks. He waited till they were at the corner of the Rue du Bac before speaking again. "It was more than just some illnesses, wasn't it?"

Joly rubbed the top of his cane pensively. "There seems to be some malingering. I made sure to report it. The Colonel said he's implementing discipline now within the ranks; it was a comment he let slip past." He rubbed his cane again, clearly pondering now some other line of inquiry. "It is a terrible business to be a soldier, whether in peacetime or in battle. Fortunately the army surgeons have made this interesting observation: the swift extraction of the musket balls and in some cases, a little debridement, seems to ease the healing process somewhat."

"How?'

"I suspect it has to do with how the human body manages the repair of broken and wounded tissues; the process seems to necessitate that the patient become poorly before he makes a recovery. If there is foreign matter present, it seems to exacerbate the process. Haven't you ever considered why, at the Rue de Chanvrerie, Pontmercy wandered for such a long time in a fever, while Prouvaire regained lucidity far more quickly and was on his feet in a few days?"

"Then it has nothing to do with the extent or location of their injuries; Prouvaire took a bullet to his chest but Marius broke his arm."

"Marius was also struck by some debris and a few pieces of shot, which were not removed right away. He also had debris in the wound. On the other hand Prouvaire's wounds to the chest were shallower and more easily cleaned."

Enjolras grimaced at this clinical explanation. "That stands to reason."

"Especially in light of the practice of many of our gunnery crews to fight with clean shirts or none at all; a dirty shirt seems to prove the death of them," Joly added in a matter-of-fact tone. "If only it would be possible to investigate the sort of debris or the actual mechanism of injury."

"It could be a matter of developing the proper instrument for such a venture," Enjolras observed.

"Like how Laennec did it with his studies on auscultation. Too bad the consumption took him too soon," Joly said. He checked his pocket watch and sighed deeply. "Musichetta is having adjustments made to her dress. She has forbidden me from even having a peek of her wearing it."

Enjolras smirked, imagining how this discussion might have played out. "I need not remind you that even in this case, patience is a virtue."

Joly laughed ruefully. "In this case, I have learned to enjoy her caprices." In a few minutes they parted ways; Joly continued on towards the Place Saint-Sulpice while Enjolras went up to the Rue de la Chaise, where he was set to meet with an official and some provincial deputies regarding the legislation he was making final revisions to in preparation for the third hearing several days from then.

It was past two in the afternoon when this meeting finally concluded, which was a little bit later than Enjolras had hoped. ' _No use making further inquiries now when some offices are on half-holiday,'_ he thought as he finally took his leave of his hosts. As he walked down the street, he noticed some carriages parked outside the Abbaye aux Bois. ' _Chauteaubriand and some of his friends are probably visiting there,'_ he noted, recalling that one of their associates had retired to this very convent.

Suddenly the jarring crash of a gate slamming shut pierced the noontime quiet. Two young women were yelling at each other from opposite sides of the gate. "So you think you can simply leave? After everything that Angelique and I have done for you, this is the sort of gratitude we get?" Cerise Lafontaine screeched from inside the convent compound.

"I can't thank you for making me feel terrible even when you say you're trying to make me look nice. I am tired of following  _you_  around, and Angelique telling me all the time what to do especially when she's being horrible to other people. You've been horrible to me ever since that meeting at the Place Vendome," Azelma Thenardier snapped.

"Because you did what you weren't supposed to do! Just because  _she_  is your sister, that doesn't mean you had to choose her in that silly election," Cerise seethed.

"You didn't have to be there either. I know you didn't even want to go," Azelma said. "I also don't like what you say about so many other people, like Jehan, or my sister, or my brother."

"Brother? Your brothers are still children, why would I bother with any of them?"

"Not them. My  _older_  brother, at least he will be someday."

Cerise's jaw dropped. "How could you say such a thing?"

"It's much better than what you have been trying to make everyone believe about him and you," Azelma shot back. "I'm telling Jehan too what you said about him back there-"

"He'll have nothing to do with you," Cerise hissed. "After what you did, with that money and the necklace? It's still a mess, even with that horrible man Citizen Duchamp in prison. He'll never want a horrible liar, someone from the lowest gutter-"she added before jumping back when Azelma kicked the gate. Cerise stared at Azelma as if the latter had gone mad before running back to the convent's main building, calling for her sister.

Enjolras quickly moved to intercept Azelma as she ran down the street. She started when she realized he was there, but she managed to greet him with a shaky nod. "She's awful. Am I glad to be gone, and am I glad to see you!"

"You should speak to Eponine as soon as you can," Enjolras simply said.

"Is she at the Rue des Macons now?"

"Most likely. What do you plan to do?"

"After I tell Ponine about this, I will send for my things."

"Very well then, and do you already know where will you stay?"

"I could go to the Pontmercys; I know Cosette won't turn me away." She paused and reddened with embarrassment at having brought up the name of a mutual friend in such a context. "Never mind that I said that. Ponine will help me think of something better than the streets. How is Jehan?"

"He is still doing well."

Azelma nodded slowly, as if trying to make her mind up about something. "I should...I should thank him. Ponine was right about him, I should have spoken to him earlier. Do you think he will be at home some time later?"

"Perhaps. You should also see if he is at the Odeon," Enjolras replied as they reached the corner of the Rue de Chaise, where they eventually boarded an omnibus bound for the neighbourhood of the Sorbonne. Normally he would have walked all the way there but there was no way that Azelma's slippers would stand the trek all the way across this part of the Latin Quartier.

It was only when they alighted near the Rue des Macons that Azelma spoke up again. "Are you angry that I said you were my older brother?"

"More of surprised," he replied bluntly. While he could not say he was entirely pleased with this notion, he could understand the sentiment behind it.

Azelma swallowed hard before she wiped her face with the back of her hand and frowned at the rouge that came off. "Cerise was bragging to all those people we were visiting that she'll become 'Citizenness Enjolras' by this time next year."

"That is foolishness."

"I told her so, and that was the beginning of the row." Although it was evident that Azelma was still shaken by what had just transpired, there was something about her countenance that seemed less shrunken and insipid. It was a startling but rather welcome change.

It also turned out that a similar transformation had overtaken the Stendhal residence. For the first time in several weeks, Enjolras saw that the house was brightly lit, with the door ajar to receive visitors; normally it was only the front office that showed any sign of life. Through the window, he could see Eponine seated at her desk, apparently humming to herself as she copied out another manuscript. She happened to glance towards the window after a few moments and a surprised smile spread across her face as she signed for Enjolras and Azelma to enter the house.

In a few moments she met them in the front hall. "What happened? I know you two are here for a reason," she asked curiously.

"I'm no longer staying with the Lafontaines," Azelma announced proudly.

Eponine's jaw dropped. "You have to tell me all about it in a little bit; we'll talk in that room I was just working in. I just need to talk with Enjolras first," she said, her tone both amused and conspiratorial.

Enjolras smiled knowingly as he and Eponine went to a quieter part of the front hall, away from the front office door. "What are you planning?"

"I wasn't till you and Zelma arrived," Eponine whispered, catching his hand and squeezing it excitedly. "Prouvaire is here with some friends of his. They're reading a play that Emile just translated; it's actually quite awful from what I heard from here."

"I think you and Azelma should talk first before they meet," he suggested.

She grinned more widely, perhaps at the fact that he'd caught on so quickly. "He misses her. He's just been looking for a chance to see her but those Lafontaines have been keeping her away from everyone."

"She'll explain the rest of it shortly."

"You'll be the one to tell Prouvaire though that she's here. I'll see you later then?"

He nodded and clasped her arm for a moment before going to the back office, where there was the sound of uproarious laughter and some catcalling. He also heard what sounded like applause, but oddly enough it seemed more muffled, as if it was from far off, and very irregular at that. ' _Almost like musket-fire,'_ Enjolras thought, instinctively glancing around as if he could locate the source of this odd sound. However he did not hear it again, and so he went into the back office.

In this room, Prouvaire was seated atop a desk, balancing a huge sheaf of paper on his knees and reading to Emile and three other friends. The poet grinned at Enjolras. "You've arrived at the second-best part of the story."

"What is the best part?" Emile chimed in.

"The end of it. It will be a breath of relief."

Enjolras smirked at this long-suffering quip as he found a seat. "Azelma is here."

Prouvaire nearly dropped what he was reading. "Why?"

"She and Eponine have to discuss some matters," Enjolras said. "Do you wish to speak with her?"

Prouvaire swallowed hard and looked down. "Only if she wishes to, if she would have me..."

One of the other young men shook his head. "Prouvaire, hasn't she brought you endless trouble these past few weeks? You'll end up pining again and what's going to happen to your work?"

"It was not entirely her doing. I've lived with pining long enough for me to make a sort of recovery." Prouvaire said slowly. "Of course you know that is not my natural state," he said, directing this comment to Enjolras.

"If that is what you say," Enjolras simply said; although Prouvaire had maintained an unusual sort of equanimity throughout these past few weeks of tumult, the toll was still evident in his countenance and slightly pained look.  _'Which is different from his previous entanglements, when he'd be more vocal about his despondency,'_ he observed quietly.

Prouvaire simply shrugged before flipping again through the pages of the manuscript. "We may as well skip the soliloquy; Balzac suggested we do away with it in order to maintain the audience's interest-"

"Aren't you boys quite through with that horrible drama of yours?" Odette called from the office doorway. She was still clad in mourning black, but she had finally taken care with her toilette and dressed her hair. The matron's eyebrows shot up when she saw Enjolras. "Citizen, I was not aware you were interested in drama."

"On rare occasions," Enjolras replied.

"Mother, we were in the middle of a reading," Emile said furtively.

"I'm not about to be rude to another guest," Odette replied more energetically. "I need to have a word with you though, Citizen," she said to Enjolras.

Emile rolled her eyes. "Mother, if it's about what happened earlier this week-"

"It's a cause of concern, Emile. Now get back to your reading," Odette said sternly to her son.

Enjolras quietly stepped out to where Odette waited in the hallway. "What is this about, Citizenness?"

Odette went to a table and picked up a sheaf of papers. "All of these have been turning up at our doorstep ever since those trials. Sometimes Emile gets notes but those are mostly harmless, but it's another matter for Eponine. I sometimes tell her that she shouldn't work in the front office where people can see and throw things, but you know how stubborn she is and she says she likes the light. We're lucky nothing of that sort has happened yet."

Enjolras looked through the papers, recognizing some of them as scathing articles and denouncements he'd read over the past eight days in the aftermath of the trial. "I'm sorry about this disturbance, Citizenness Stendhal," he said, setting the papers back down on the table.

"I do not understand how you all deal with this; I know you cannot censor the presses and that filing all those libel charges against each and every writer and artist is impossible," Odette sighed. "If I was in any one of your places, I would probably die."

"Mother! Are you honestly still talking about that?" Emile groaned indignantly as he emerged from the back room. "I told you it was nothing to worry about."

"You were complaining about that several days ago," Odette retorted.

"I already said it was no problem, Mother!" Emile said before he yelped as Odette grabbed his ear and dragged him to another part of the hallway to begin arguing with him.

"Stendhal, I have no problem if we reschedule the rest of this reading-"Prouvaire suggested as he stepped out into the hall, still holding the manuscript. He stopped in his tracks and dropped the papers as he looked towards someone who was now standing near the front office. "Azelma..."

At the other end of the hall, Azelma glanced over her shoulder at Eponine, who gave her an encouraging nod. Azelma took a halting step forward. "Are you happy to see me, Jehan?"

Prouvaire shook his head even as he walked towards Azelma, closing the distance between them in moments. He whispered something in her ear that made her smile with pure relief. She threw her arms around him, burying her face in his chest to hide her tears as he ducked his head to continue speaking closely to her, all the while holding her tightly to him as if he was afraid she would slip away again.

In the meantime Enjolras saw that Eponine had picked up the sheaf of articles that Odette had been saving, and was now bringing the entire pile to the front office. He followed her there in time to see her tearing up the entire stack and stuffing the pieces into the stove. "I don't know why Odette was saving these articles; they only make her more upset!" she remarked. "I've been waiting for days to make good use of this to get a little warmer."

Enjolras couldn't help but smile at this practical line of thought. "This journalistic backlash was more than anyone expected," he remarked as he picked up some wayward shreds of paper and shoved them into the stove. "It's too much of a distraction."

"It's only because of people being silly and looking at all the wrong things," Eponine pointed out, gently laying a hand on his chest. "I remember that when I was a little girl my father would take me out walking and sometimes ask me to look for the birds. He used to like them so. Sometimes I'd be listening to other children playing, sometimes I'd be looking at flowers, and I'd miss what he was trying to make me see. I s'pose it's a little like that."

"It is not merely distractions that people have to contend with, but with prejudice and outdated ideas," Enjolras replied. He ran his thumb over her cheek to push away a stray strand of hair and smiled when he saw her lean into his touch. The open trust and affection in her dark eyes was heartening, but even so he felt his gut clench as he recalled the spiteful words that Theodule had uttered earlier that morning. "Did you ever regret coming forward for the trial?" he asked her seriously after a moment.

"Not really. I just wished people made it easier, but I'm not sorry for it," she replied. Her smile was teasing when she spoke again. "Now which silly asked you about such a thing?"

He pulled her a little closer, knowing better than to simply dismiss the subject now that she was unwittingly getting to the bottom of it. "I spoke with Theodule Gillenormand at the barracks today."

Eponine rolled her eyes. "Is he still angry about what I said to him last month? I could very well give him a kick where he needs it again."

"You don't have to," he said as he tightened his grip on her waist. "He claims I ruined your reputation by 'pushing you into politics'."

"He is much worse than a silly. He never understood anything."

"What do you mean?"

She reached for his hand, deftly sliding her fingers between his. "Most other people tell me to simply run away from things. That's the way it was on the streets, that's what people think I ought to do with these troubles. You're the first one to help me figure out how to fix them," she said in his ear.

Enjolras touched the side of her face, prompting her to meet his gaze again. He kissed her lightly and rested his forehead against hers, feeling her sigh contentedly at this gesture. "You have always had the strength for it," he told her.

"You're the one who's always believed in that-and thank you for it," she whispered back.

Suddenly a rapping sound came from the direction of the front office windows. Eponine frowned and stood on tiptoe to look over Enjolras' shoulder. "It's Courfeyrac and Paulette!"

"They look like they've come a long way," Enjolras noted, letting go of her so they could let in their obviously harried friends. His wariness only heightened when he saw how Courfeyrac was trying to catch his breath and how Paulette seemed almost on the verge of collapse. "What happened?"

Courfeyrac took a deep breath. "Get Paulette inside first, please." He paused and looked around the front hall; the Stendhals, Prouvaire, Azelma, and the rest of Emile's friends were now all in the hallway. "There's been a fight in the neighbourhood of Saint Sulpice. There was an uprising in the barracks and the fugitive soldiers tried to take refuge in the church," he said.

"What about Joly, Musichetta, and Bossuet? They don't live far from there," Eponine asked.

"The three of them weren't home when we knocked," Paulette replied from where she was half-collapsed in a chair. "Musichetta said anyway she'd be out seeing to some preparations for the wedding; I think they are with her."

"If it's a problem with soldiers, then someone has to tell Lafayette right away," Emile said, stepping aside to let Eponine hurry to the kitchen. "He still has command over the army."

"Rather indirect at this point," Enjolras pointed out, now recalling the visit that he and Joly made to the barracks earlier that morning. Perhaps there was a more sinister reason for this sudden issue with discipline within the ranks. "He does have jurisdiction nowadays over the National Guard, but I would rather he would not have to summon them," he said at length.

"Why so?" Eponine asked, returning now with a glass of water for Paulette.

"They know how to deal with barricades. Mutiny of our armed forces is a completely different question."


	68. Chapter 68: On This Day of Days

**Chapter68: On This Day of Days**

It was fortunate for much of the city that the fugitives at Saint-Sulpice were immediately captured, thus effectively putting an end to any prospect of immediate bloodshed. However this disturbance, coupled with the news that the perpetrators would be facing a court martial, only served to plunge everyone into a state of tense anticipation. It was only to be expected that the first of April, the day set for this controversial proceeding, would be a day rife with much conjecture and speculation.

Yet it was on this very same day that another sort of buzz, albeit a much more welcome one, was afoot in the very neighbourhood of the Place Saint-Sulpice. At past seven in the morning, a small group of young people gathered at Joly, Musichetta, and Bossuet's home on the Rue Ferou. A pair of coaches, gaily decorated with ribbons, waited outside the premises. The inside of the house was a scene of merry chaos; the first floor was given over to the men of the wedding party, while the more comfortable second floor was set apart for the women.

"It would be so much easier if only you and Joly could have had your church ceremony at Saint-Sulpice instead of all the way at Saint-Etienne," Eponine said as she inspected the veil that Musichetta intended to wear that day. "We wouldn't have to travel so much, from here to the mayor's office, then to the church and back here again."

"It was the only church that was nice enough  _and_  that would allow us to have a wedding before Easter," Musichetta said from where she was seated at her dresser. Her dress was light blue, with sleeves trimmed delicately with lace, and a billowing skirt accented with a thin ribbon along the hem. Her jewelry consisted only of a simple silver necklace with a pendant in the shape of a lily. The bride wrung her hands once again, heedless of the effect this had on her new gloves. "I cannot believe that Patrice and I are actually marrying. I don't know if this is going to be a mistake."

"Why would it be? You two have waited long enough," Claudine said from where she was adjusting the wide neckline and pelerines of her light pink dress.

"It is going to change so many things. I won't be just Musichetta Laurain anymore, but Musichetta Joly," the bride said. She paused as if trying to get used to the sound of the name she would soon take. "It sounds like a new  _life,_ " she finally whispered.

"Chetta, you can't be nervous now! Joly is probably fretting enough for the two of you," Claudine chided. "You love him, he loves you, and there is no impediment now to your marriage-"

"Will he still think the same of me years from now?" Musichetta fretted. "I may be beautiful now but not when I am wrinkled and a doddering old woman. He can't think of me as literary or having fine eyes when I reach that state!"

"He'll be old and probably balding then, that will even the score with you both," Eponine pointed out even as a light knock sounded on the apartment door. She jumped up from her seat and raced to see who had just arrived. "It's a good thing you're here now, Cosette," she greeted with relief.

"For a while I was worrying that Marius and I would be late. Where is everyone else?" Cosette said as she entered the apartment.

"It's only the wedding party fixing up here. Everyone else will meet at the church of Saint-Etienne," Eponine explained. "I thought I'd be late too since I had to make sure my brothers would actually get a wash and a good breakfast, but Antoine-I mean, Enjolras, said that he'd take charge of them, so that's why I'm here so early."

"Ah, no wonder then," Cosette said. She smiled at her friends. "You all look so wonderful today."

"So do you," Eponine said, noticing how the simple tea color of Cosette's gown actually drew attention to her friend's radiant face, and suited her station of a married woman without detracting from the charms of her youth. As for Eponine herself, she'd chosen a light green dress that was a little less voluminous than her friends' clothes; her only concessions to fashion were a bonnet and a mantle-like coat both in the same color as her dress. ' _The better to keep things in,'_ she thought, keenly conscious now of all the weight in her coat's inside pockets.

Cosette sighed sympathetically when she saw Musichetta, who'd buried her face in her hands despite all of Claudine's attempts to reassure her. "Claudine, may I have a word with her?"

"Please," Claudine said, stepping away to let Cosette pull their friend aside. She let out a long suffering sigh as she looked at Eponine. "It's a good thing that we have two friends who are already married, otherwise we would be even more lost than we are now."

"I don't s'pose you'd ever be nervous when you and Combeferre will get married," Eponine remarked.

Claudine shrugged. "It will not happen soon. He won't ask when he still has so much to work on, and I would like to continue publishing under my own name for a little while longer."

Eponine nodded slowly, piecing together the sentiment behind these words. "Speaking of publishing, will you be coming with me and Allyce to the third hearing of our bill tomorrow? Musichetta won't be around of course since it's the day after her wedding and Leonor is needed at work all day too."

"I'm afraid I cannot; my father will need me at the shop as well," Claudine apologized. "In any case it's the third hearing. It is supposed to be the easiest one, I hear?"

"For some people like Citizen Mathieu, since he got his work voted on and now we don't have to worry about prices going up too much. It's also easy for Enjolras; his third hearing on the petition went well and now all he has to wait for are the votes from the other areas so that piece of work can become a law," Eponine pointed out.

"Regardless of the outcome, making it this far is already a huge step in itself," Claudine reminded her. "I am sure though that no one will settle for anything less than success."

In the meantime Musichetta was inspecting her tear-streaked face in the mirror and dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief borrowed from Cosette. "I look a mess. I hope he won't see it under the veil."

"You'll look better by the time you see him, I s'pose," Eponine said, picking up the veil where she'd set it down and going over to help Musichetta put it on. "Hope you don't mind I put in an extra pin or two there so it won't fall off."

"As long as I can actually remove it later," Musichetta finally said more bravely, managing a smile as she looked at herself again. "We should go; I think I've really kept him waiting long enough!"

At that moment a knock sounded on the door. "Cosette? Is everything well there?" Marius asked anxiously. "Joly is pacing a hole into the floor downstairs."

Cosette laughed as she opened the door to speak to her husband. "Tell him that he can get into the wedding coach. We'll be downstairs in a minute," she said.

"I see we're all keeping to that part of the tradition," Marius said before nodding politely to the rest of the ladies. "You all look very well today."

"And what of me?" Cosette teased.

Marius blushed deeply before whispering something to Cosette, who laughed before giving him a brief kiss. He excused himself to return downstairs while Cosette shut the door again. "It seems as if he, Bossuet, and Combeferre had to also talk to Joly too. It looks though as if all will be well," she informed Musichetta. "Believe me, you two won't regret this."

"I know. Thank you," Musichetta said before they all went downstairs. Cosette went to rejoin Marius in their private carriage, leaving Musichetta, Eponine, and Claudine to board the first wedding coach while Joly, Combeferre, and Bossuet took the second. The journey to the mayor's office and the ceremony there went smoothly, with everyone breathing a sigh of relief when Joly and Musichetta finally signed the register there. Claudine and Bossuet signed as the primary witnesses to this ceremony. The happiness of the bride and the groom was contagious; even Eponine, who up to this point had harboured only a vague curiosity about these proceedings, found herself feeling enthused and even a little giddy on seeing her friends in such a state of bliss.

This levity was further buoyed when the wedding party reached the church of Saint-Etienne. Some of their other friends had only just arrived, judging by the flurry of activity outside the church doors. Eponine emerged from the carriage first and immediately caught sight of her brothers and Enjolras off to one side of the crowd. Enjolras was crouching so that he was eye level with the boys as he showed them how to tie a simple knot in their cravats. She could not resist laughing out loud at this scene, which was so awkward and yet  _familiar_  all at once.

Neville, who'd finished tying up his cravat first, immediately broke away and scooted to his sister. "Ponine, I did it mostly by myself!" he crowed triumphantly.

"It looks very good on you," Eponine said, helping him adjust his hat. Much to her amusement, she saw that Neville had actually managed to tie his cravat almost in the exact manner as Enjolras did his. Judging by Jacques' grin, he had achieved a similar result.

Bahorel and Grantaire whistled appreciatively on seeing Eponine while Azelma, Therese, Nicholine, and Leonor gave her approving looks. Courfeyrac grinned from ear to ear as he clapped Enjolras on the back. "Look behind you," he said in an undertone.

"What?" Enjolras asked distractedly as he helped Gavroche put the finishing touches on his cravat. When he straightened up and turned to look at Eponine, his eyes widened as a smile spread across his lips. "You're..."

"Something passable, I hope," she said, not hiding her own grin. ' _How can he look even better than he already does on most other days?'_ she wondered incredulously as she took in the sight of him. She knew that he was wearing his best maroon waistcoat under his black coat, and his cravat was tied in such a way that had her wishing that she could loosen it if only to run her fingers over the hollow of his throat. When their gazes locked she thought for a moment she would be unable to breathe for the sheer intensity of the moment; his eyes were full of amazement, affection, and a  _wanting_  that was enough to send a delightful sort of warmth through her body. "What do you think?" she asked after a moment.

"Just 'passable' is a very big understatement in your case, Eponine," he said.

She ducked her head if only to hide how her face had reddened at this compliment. "I wish I could find a word that fits you then," she said as she began to straighten out the cuffs of his coat.

"There will be another opportunity for that. For now we'd better save the compliments for our friends," he reminded her.

She rolled her eyes even as she caught the conspiratorial tone in his voice; clearly he had also noticed that their friends and the other wedding guests were watching them avidly. "Must you always be so proper?" she teased.

"If the occasion calls for it," he quipped dryly.

"Well then, you'll have to do without me for a little bit. I'll see you later," she retorted before going to help Musichetta out of the carriage. Much to her vexation, both Claudine and Musichetta were clearly fighting to control their laughter. "I don't see what's so funny about it, it's just the way we talk about things," she said a little petulantly.

Musichetta giggled as she smoothed down her skirt, which had gotten a little rumpled during the carriage ride. "You're only waiting for him to ask, aren't you?"

Eponine rolled her eyes by way of reply as she helped Musichetta adjust her veil. In a few minutes the congregation filed into the church while the members of the wedding party took their respective places. Eponine stood with Claudine as one of Musichetta's attendants, which meant that she would not be sitting with her siblings; luckily it seemed as if Gavroche was intent on behaving himself while Enjolras and Courfeyrac took charge of the younger two.

This ceremony was lengthier than that at the mayor's office; the priest gave a sermon about the duties of married life, the vows were longer, and there was that exchange of wedding rings. Despite the occasional sense of tedium, there was something moving, even warm about these proceedings. ' _Maybe because everyone is here, even if there is no family to speak of on either side,'_ Eponine realized. None of Joly's kin had deigned to attend, while Musichetta had necessarily distanced herself from hers, but the church was full of friends from their respective workplaces, neighbourhoods, and other places of association.  _'I don't know how full the church will be if I ever get married, but I'm sure that on that day Azelma, Gavroche, Neville, and Jacques will be there,'_ the thought occurred to her. She had to pinch her wrist and deliberately keep from looking in Enjolras' direction before it came too obvious that she had been daydreaming for a little bit. Yet when she did sneak a glance at him, she was surprised to see him apparently deep in thought.

At last the priest declared the newlyweds as man and wife and then Joly and Musichetta shared a brief but nonetheless tender kiss before they went hand in hand to the church doors to exit for the first time as Citizen and Citizenness Joly. Much to the dismay of the priest, the quiet of the church was broken with cheering and applause from the congregation, but there was no place now for rebuke as everyone went to see the married pair off in their carriage.

"Eponine, there is still room in the coach; you and Bossuet can join us for the ride," Musichetta called to her friend.

Eponine glanced around to where Claudine was now with Combeferre; it was apparent that the two would be riding in the same carriage with Prouvaire and Azelma. ' _That leaves me as her sole attendant then,'_ she thought. She saw Gavroche looking at her quizzically, clearly expecting her to join him and the rest of their siblings. "I'll have to stay with Chetta a little longer. You'd better take a fiacre to the Place Saint-Sulpice since it might rain."

Gavroche gestured to a puddle of mud. "The ground will give us good enough overshoes."

"Which you'll leave for me and Enjolras to clean up?" Eponine retorted. She sighed exasperatedly when Gavroche evaded her attempt to pinch his ear and ran off, stopping only to stick his tongue out at her. ' _I s'pose I can't have him behaved the entire day,'_ she thought as she and Bossuet climbed into the front seats of the carriage, reserving the capacious backseat for the newlyweds. The route of this wedding cortege would pass by the Place du Pantheon, down towards the Rue de Gres and the Place Saint-Michel, and then pass between the Odeon and the Palace des Pairs at the Luxembourg, before turning on the Rue Ferou, where the wedding feast was to take place.

"Won't it be odd for you now that they are married?" Eponine asked Bossuet as the coach reached the Rue Vaugirard, right in the vicinity of the theater. "You're still living in the same house as they are."

"It will be as if she is my sister-in-law," Bossuet said. "Joly is my brother, first and foremost. While of course I was fond of Musichetta; it cannot be helped, you know her. Despite that, I would not risk some things even for the world." He cracked his knuckles pensively. "As for the option of staying with Marthe, it is not a door open yet at this time."

"What will open it then?"

"That is still being negotiated. Neither of us is in a hurry; we enjoy the exercise actually."

Eponine smirked even as her gaze strayed to the crowded street they were now on. The cortege was moving at the pace of a leisurely stroll; in fact she was sure that if she got out now and ran the rest of the way, she would be at the Place Saint-Sulpice at least five minutes ahead of this carriage. The street was far too crowded; there were the fiacres that the other guests were taking, as well as the usual traffic of people going about their Monday morning business in the area. As she looked out on the Palace des Pairs, where spectators had gathered on the curb, she saw the telltale flash of gunmetal in the sunlight, directed in the general direction of the cortege.

"Get down!" Joly suddenly shouted from the backseat. Eponine had only a split second to throw herself to the floor and cover her face before glass exploded throughout the carriage, covering the seats in deadly, glittering shards. She craned her neck and saw that Bossuet was crouched next to her, hiding his head in his coat. In the rear of the carriage, Joly had thrown himself on top of Musichetta, and was covering her head with one of his arms while using his free hand to reach for his cane. Another shot rang through the air, and this time a musket ball buried itself in the woodwork just above the top of the rear carriage seat. Everything was a din of horses neighing in panic, shouts, fleeing footsteps and still more shots as the wedding coach lurched sharply to the right and crashed into a streetlamp.

Before Eponine could reach into her coat pockets, she saw a man with his face masked by a hood, peering in through the carriage's broken window. She immediately evaded the long knife he swung at her and then punched him in the face. She saw another attacker lunge at the carriage, and this time she managed to land a kick on his shoulder to propel him backwards. At the same moment that she heard something crack in the backseat; Joly had just used his cane to parry a sabre aimed right for his head.

Bossuet kicked the door open on his side of the carriage, making an opening just wide enough for a man to squeeze through. He grabbed Joly's arm. "You two get out of here!" he shouted.

"What!"

"It's your wedding day, not your funeral!"

Joly's look was pained but he nodded grimly to Bossuet before he slipped out of the wrecked carriage and helped Musichetta through the narrow aperture. In the meantime Eponine managed to wriggle out through the broken window, just managing to keep her dress from snagging on the shards of glass jutting out here and there all over the frame. The Rue Vaugirard had turned into one huge melee; not only were policemen and bystanders facing off against masked men but it now also seemed as if there was a tussle now occurring between some members of the National Guard and a squad of lancers. Spectators were fleeing the scene, while more people were jumping out of carriages and knocking on houses or even trying to jump the fence into the nearby Luxembourg promenade. She saw Prouvaire fling Azelma behind him before he knocked down a burly officer who had a gun pointed at them. On the far side of the street, in the direction of the Place Saint-Sulpice, Cosette had somehow acquired a knife and was brandishing it as she, Marius, and Paulette were trying to make their escape. Courfeyrac had his sword stick out, and was fighting his way to where Feuilly was taking down a seargent. Bossuet had managed to also extricate himself from the wrecked carriage, and was now racing to assist Marthe and some other bystanders trapped in a doorway.

Eponine felt her blood run cold when she realized that she could not find her brothers anywhere in this tumult. ' _Please let them have run someplace!'_ she begged silently as she ran towards a side street to check if they were there. At that moment she saw Enjolras facing off against another attacker, using another borrowed cane as a weapon. Unknown to him there were two more men rushing up, intent on tackling him to the ground. "Oh no you don't," she muttered, picking up the nearest piece of broken wood she could find and swinging it at one of the men who passed by her. This man howled in pain and surprise before turning on her, but the moment's distraction was enough for Eponine to grab his wrist and twist it at a sickening angle before she dealt him a blow to the back of his neck.

Before she could run towards Enjolras, she heard a shriek for help coming from an alley to her left. She rushed over and pounced at the unmasked thug who had trapped Jacques in a corner. She pulled at this man's scraggly hair and pummelled him with her fists but this man only grabbed her and threw her to the ground. Although this was nearly enough to knock her breathless, Eponine managed to struggle to her feet just in time to see a uniformed man bring down her attacker.

"Get out of here! You brute, attacking a girl and a young child!" Theodule roared at this thug.

"She's seen too much!" the stranger whined.

Theodule gave this man a confused look. "Too much? The orders were—"he began before suddenly groaning and clutching at the back of his head as he fell to the ground. "I've got the captain, where are the others?" a tall, imposing officer asked as he made his appearance.

"I don't know; I've had to deal with this little bitch!" the first attacker spat.

The officer's perplexed smile turned into a leer as he got a look at Eponine's face. "Not just any bitch," he laughed, drawing his pistol.

Eponine's hands shook as she swiftly reached into her coat and pulled out one of the small pistols she'd been keeping. "Not another step! That means both of you!" she shouted.

The officer laughed patronizingly. "You do not even know how to use that, young lady."

Eponine only bit her lip as she cocked the pistol. She felt Jacques clutch her skirt and bury his face in it. "Look away,  _petit_ ," she whispered through gritted teeth, already feeling dread close in about her as the officer took a single step. She gripped the gun tightly and pulled the trigger, only to end up staggering backwards with the unexpected ricochet of the weapon. The ball only struck the ground in front of her attacker, scattering mud and sludge everywhere. Eponine did not have time to draw her second pistol before she was pinned to the ground, with the barrel of the officer's pistol pressed right against her forehead. She desperately pushed at the man's gun hand and bit his wrist, forcing him to loosen his grip both on the gun and on her. ' _I'm not going to make it out of here!'_ she realized even as she tried to gain some leverage against her assailant.

Suddenly she heard two loud cracks, the second one only a mere instant before the officer collapsed on her. Eponine pushed the unconscious man off her body and found herself looking up at Prouvaire and Azelma. "Thank you. How did you know-"she asked as Prouvaire helped her to her feet.

"We knew you'd be looking for the boys. We found Neville and he told us they'd all gotten scattered when they had to leave their fiacre," Azelma said breathlessly, kicking aside the limp form of her sister's other assailant.

"Where is Neville then?" Eponine asked.

"With Combeferre. He's fine, they should be at the Rue Ferou by now," Prouvaire said.

"And Gavroche?"

Prouvaire and Azelma exchanged pained looks. "We saw him running towards the Luxembourg," Azelma whispered. "He'll be fine, maybe."

Eponine nodded numbly; if there was anyone who knew how to hide, it was Gavroche. ' _But at the same time he's also one for danger,'_ she thought. She gingerly checked herself over for injuries before scooping up Jacques, now unwilling to let him out of sight or out of her reach. It was all she could do not to laugh when she saw Prouvaire carry Azelma on his back; apparently Azelma had lost her slippers in the fight. By now more police and National guardsmen had arrived at the Rue Vaugirard, and were rounding up the masked assailants and wayward soldiers. Some people were bringing the wounded into their houses, while other bystanders were answering questions from the police. Eponine heard Jacques whimper at the sight of the gendarmes and she clutched him closer while they followed Azelma and Prouvaire to the Rue Ferou.

It was an odd sort of chaos that greeted them at the Rue Ferou. Many of the wedding guests had already made their way there, and were exchanging worried conjectures or trying to soothe their nerves by partaking of pastries and wine. Joly was speaking to a police officer while Claudine was showing Paulette how to bandage up Courfeyrac's shin. Combeferre was examining another friend who had received an ugly looking bruise across his midsection.

Jacques immediately wriggled his way out of Eponine's arms and ran up to where Neville was sitting near Combeferre. Before Eponine could follow suit, she saw Musichetta running up to her, still wearing her now bedraggled wedding dress. "Oh thank heavens you're here!" Musichetta cried, hugging Eponine tightly. "Are any of you hurt?" she asked, addressing this question not just to Eponine but also to Azelma and Prouvaire.

"Maybe just a little bruised," Eponine said as Azelma and Prouvaire shook their heads. She looked around and saw that Gavroche, Enjolras, and Bahorel weren't in the apartment. "Where are -"she began worriedly.

Musichetta shook her head. "I saw your brother escaping towards the park. That was a long while back though. I am not sure about the rest."

Eponine took a deep breath as she fought to quash her growing apprehension. ' _They know how to take care of themselves, and l will see them soon,'_ she tried to remind herself over and over as she followed her friend to sit in a corner. "What about you and Joly?"

"You see me here, don't you? It's a good thing you and Bossuet were around; I don't know if Patrice and I could have taken on  _all_  of those attackers," she confided. She swallowed hard before speaking again. "They were after Patrice, you know? Apparently something went very, very wrong at the court martial today, and someone pointed out that Patrice filled in for the barracks' surgeon one day, and that he knew something of the mutineers. They wanted to silence him."

Eponine looked incredulously to where Joly was still speaking furiously to the policeman. "Did he really have anything important on him?"

"He only knew who was feuding with whom, and who was feigning to be ill, but nothing more. He didn't know that some of those attackers, those masked men, were from out of Paris," Musichetta said.

"Out of Paris?"

"Other regiments, so they say. It will be worse than a court martial waiting for them."

Eponine frowned, remembering what Theodule had very nearly blurted out in the alley. ' _Would it be useful to tell though?'_ she wondered. She pushed the thought out of her head as she saw Musichetta let out a defeated sigh. "I'm sorry this all happened on your wedding day," she said.

"At least I'm not a widow, Patrice is not a widower, and hopefully there won't be any funerals to plan," Musichetta replied over the sound of a commotion starting up near the apartment door. "Do feel free to eat anything; being alive is cause enough to celebrate today."

Eponine sprang to her feet when she saw Enjolras now standing in the apartment, carrying Gavroche. The child was holding a bloodied cloth to his forehead. Bahorel was the last to enter, with his cravat clumsily tied around his knuckles. All three of them were covered in dust and blood. "What happened?" Eponine asked frantically as she went to them.

Gavroche grinned as he held up a fist. "Bahorel and I gave the varmints a good lesson."

"Which almost ended badly before Enjolras arrived," Bahorel pointed out before Therese dragged him off by his lapels, all the while scolding him.

Combeferre put a hand on Eponine's shoulder. "I'll see to your brother. You'd better take care of Enjolras," he said calmly.

Eponine nodded gratefully as she went to help Enjolras set Gavroche down on a settee. She saw Enjolras flinch momentarily when he moved his left arm. "Don't you move about so much," she said, pulling him to sit in a nearby chair before going to fetch the necessary supplies for tending to his injury. When she returned she saw that he had given up his chair to another wounded guest, and he was now seated on the floor next to where Combeferre was still seeing to Gavroche. "Antoine, what did I just tell you?" she asked him exasperatedly.

"It's only a slight blow," Enjolras hissed, his hand coming to rest on her arm when she sat next to him again. "You though-"

"I'm fine and anyway it's not your turn to worry about me," she retorted as she helped him take off his torn coat and his waistcoat. She could see through his shirt that he was bruised all the way from his collarbone to the tip of his shoulder, and there was a shallow gash running down to his arm. "I know you don't like watching when you're getting bandaged up, so maybe you should just look at me instead," she quipped as she tugged at the neckline of his shirt to allow her to inspect the injury more thoroughly.

Enjolras chuckled before meeting her gaze. "I saw you in the fight, but you suddenly disappeared."

"I had to go after Jacques," she said as she began to dab a wet cloth on his wound. She ran her free hand through his hair to soothe him when he winced again. "Is it really that bad? I could ask Combeferre to take a look at it if you're worried about something broken."

"It only stings now; it will be fine in a day or two," he said more calmly, shifting a little to allow her to bandage his arm more easily.

"The wound perhaps, but not the bruises," she said as she tied off the bandage and sat back to let him put on his waistcoat. She wanted desperately to kiss him, to throw her arms around him and hold him close if only to convince herself that they were both alive and had somehow made it through this recent debacle, but she contented herself with scooting back to sit next to him again. She felt his fingers come up to trace circles over the back of her neck and she relaxed into his touch, finally feeling safer than she had this past hour.

Suddenly a slight cough came from the nearby settee. Eponine looked up and blushed hard when she saw that Gavroche, Combeferre, and Courfeyrac were watching them amusedly over the top of the seat. "Hopefully there is nothing to worry about with you two?" Combeferre asked mildly.

"All is well," Enjolras said, giving their friends a sidelong look as he and Eponine got to their feet. "I imagine that this celebration will not be a lengthy one."

Combeferre nodded grimly. "I will go to the Necker after this; it is likely I will be there all night."

"Bahorel will surely be needed at the Prefecture and Grantaire will be expected at the presses or at the Cafe du Foy with the other journalists," Enjolras remarked.

Suddenly a shout came from the doorway, where Feuilly had been talking to another lately arrived guest. He sheepishly muttered an apology before going over to join his friends. "Conflicting reports from the Hotel de Ville. Several émigrés are being linked to this disturbance today, and there is one who is fighting now to clear his name."

Enjolras' eyebrows shot up. "Who might that be?"

Feuilly sighed deeply as he looked at his friends; the way he bit the inside of his cheek only added to the grimness of the situation. "This should not be a surprise; it is none other than the Duc d'Orleans."


	69. Chapter 69: The Initial Difficulties Of Providing Succour

**Chapter 69: The Initial Difficulties of Providing Succour**

"So we have a court martial that turned into a massacre, an attack on a wedding cortege, and Louis-Philippe's suddenly turning up at an inn on the outskirts of Paris, where he'd been staying for two days. Did you happen to be present at all three of those incidents?"

Enjolras merely raised an eyebrow at Bamatabois' quip despite the stifled laughter that rippled throughout the small meeting room on the Hotel de Ville's second floor. "I can only tell you the story of the second," he said, ignoring the dull pain still lingering in his wounded shoulder. It was already past ten in the evening, more than six hours since an emergency meeting of legislators, deputies, and various executives had been called to order, and it was only now that a brief break had occurred in the proceedings, allowing the more restless participants to seek respite away from the stuffy session hall. ' _So far, too little has been decided,'_ Enjolras thought impatiently as he crossed the room to the window overlooking the Seine. From here he could see the glimmering streetlamps along the Pont d'Arcole and on the Ile du Palais, as well as the imposing spires of Notre Dame. The night was cool and tranquil, in contrast to the harrowing events that had transpired earlier under broad daylight. In a sense, it was a much needed nepenthe for many of the citizens.

Across the room, Rossi flung a wad of paper at Bamatabois. "That goes without saying; the wedding was that of an old friend of ours. I would have been there too if not for another long-standing obligation."

"I do not make it a point to keep track of your social ties, Rossi," Bamatabois said with a scowl as he caught the scrap of paper. "This couldn't have been more ill-timed, when the legislation regarding capital punishment is up for a vote," he added, giving Enjolras a pointed look.

Enjolras gritted his teeth before turning to look at his colleague. "Now why would you say so?"

"Treason and mutiny are matters that are the very limit of, or even beyond the scope of criminal law. Surely the idea of clemency cannot be necessarily applied to those cases, especially since there is such a threat to public safety," Bamatabois said.

"If public safety is a question, Bamatabois, a State that is willing to use capital punishment may also be construed as a threat to the life and security of the average citizen," Rossi said as he crossed his arms. "I do not mean only those with dissenting opinions."

"Spoken like a true Constitutionalist coward," one visiting deputy muttered between coughs.

Rossi paled visibly at this and moved as if to say something till Enjolras grabbed him by the shoulder. "The abolishment of capital punishment is the abolishment of the grossest tyranny, that over the right to existence," Enjolras said to the deputy.

"That is well and good, but what of when a citizen or other force threatens the State's stability, as these mutineers have done?" Bamatabois challenged. "You cannot say that exile works, otherwise we would not have the Duc d'Orleans suddenly sneaking back to Paris in time to head what could have turned out to be a coup!"

"What proof do you have that it was Louis-Philippe behind this? He is not the only émigré with a vested interest in unsettling the Republic," another deputy retorted.

"The timing of events-"

"A logical fallacy!"

"It only stands to reason!"

"With regard to Louis-Philippe's presence in Paris, it should be fairly easy to ascertain his part in the matter, and that will be the role of our consulates and investigators. By returning to France he has willingly subjected himself to the new laws, and there are ways to prevent him from making another sort of escape or evading justice if he has to answer for any crime," Enjolras pointed out sternly. "We are here to decide the extent of measures that can be taken in making sure that the citizens do not dissipate into disorder and anarchy because of these military misadventures.  _That_  would also be another route to destabilization, and one that is not so easily turned away from."

Bamatabois rubbed his temples. "This is why I hated debating against you back in the Sorbonne." He nodded to a newcomer standing in the doorway. "Good evening Jeanne."

"Good evening to you. I am sorry to interrupt your debate, but I must borrow your opponent," Charles Jeanne greeted his belligerent colleague, even as he discreetly signed for Enjolras to follow him outside.

' _Some news he has received most likely,'_ Enjolras thought as he and Jeanne went to a bend in the hallway. "What is this about?" he asked.

Jeanne took a deep breath. "Enjolras, what is your opinion of Citizen Louis Philippe?"

"I respect what benevolence he has; what I detest is the throne and the regime it inherently upholds," Enjolras answered. He paused to make sure that they would not be overheard. "I gather then that he is here in the Hotel de Ville."

Jeanne nodded quickly. "He intends to make a speech to the assembly later, avowing his innocence with regard to any counterrevolutionary efforts."

"So Lafayette has spoken with him?" Enjolras asked.

"Yes I have," a voice chimed in. Enjolras and Jeanne both turned to see a wearied looking man surrounded by four guards. He wore a bulky cloak over the usual wear of any respectable bourgeoisie. His head was bare and his hands were unbound. There was hardly anything regal about this personage, but only the gravity of a man at the close of a long and tiresome pilgrimage.

"Good evening to you, Citizen Louis Philippe," Enjolras addressed this newcomer calmly.

"To you as well, Citizen Enjolras and Citizen Jeanne," the traveller answered. "I have been wishing to speak particularly with the two of you."

"I do not believe you have anything to say to us that you cannot address openly to the entire assembly," Jeanne replied.

Louis Philippe smiled wanly. "I had hoped to speak as one citizen interested in reform to others working to achieve the same means."

"If we are to persist in this discussion, we had better move elsewhere," Enjolras suggested. While he was not particularly eager to take up a debate with this deposed monarch, he was not one to turn away the opportunity to learn something of value. ' _Even if this discussion may in the end prove to be redundant,'_  he thought as Jeanne located a small room wherein to further conduct this conference.

Although this room was furnished with a pair of sturdy chairs, Louis Philippe was prudent enough not to take any of these seats. "Please let me make it clear that I intend no harm, or to fuel any disorder by my return to this city. In truth I deplore these counterrevolutionary efforts; I condemn them especially for the harm they have caused to the people, especially the loss of life. This stand is for myself though, but I cannot represent any of the other émigrés. I have had no communication with anyone from the military; you can verify that fact easily. I have also heard of the assassin from England, and I cannot condone such a course of action as he has chosen, or the employment of such an individual."

"Very well. Why have you returned to France, entering under the title of 'Citizen', and then proceeding to make your presence secret for a number of days?" Enjolras asked sternly.

"I was fleeing some agents, both of this government as well as the émigrés. Some had come all the way from England to seek me out in Cadiz."

"Where were you going?

"Austria."

"There are more direct ways from Spain into Austria. Why this detour into Paris?"

"I had to throw off my pursuers. I stayed in hiding in order not to excite any further comment."

"Is that your only intent?"

"To be truthful, I also intended to see if I may be of use here, as many of my former friends are now in the present government. If there is any way I may aid reform, I should wish to do my part. But if the people will not have me, then what am I to do?"

"Very little," Enjolras replied, all the while not taking his eye off this visitor. The logic behind his disavowal of the counterrevolution was compelling; it was clear that Louis Philippe was quite on his own, a less than ideal position to be organizing mutineers. The timing of events fit well with his story: he had not been in France during the tumultuous campaign period, he had not been in England, and he had only arrived in Paris after the incident at Saint-Sulpice. Nevertheless he still had reason to distrust the man; he knew that Louis Philippe would have remained in hiding indefinitely if he had not been surprised at his lodgings, and there was no telling what would occur if suddenly some old alliance of his would be renewed. ' _He is in a precarious position; he cannot stay here but nor can he be kept entirely out of sight,'_ Enjolras decided.

Jeanne had also been regarding Louis Philippe suspiciously. "It would be advisable that you quit Paris as soon as you've made your defense. We cannot guarantee your safety indefinitely."

"Then where am I to go?"

"That is a question for Lafayette and the consulates," Enjolras said. It was likely that Louis Philippe would have to dwell abroad under constant watch of an embassy; it was perhaps the best way to ensure his safety as well as to contain whatever influence he still had.

Louis Philippe looked down as he began to pace the room. "Far too much has happened in these past few months; I wondered if I'd still recognize this city if I ever returned to it. It is at least good to know that we still stand on the same footing when it comes to some points of reform."

"Such as?" Jeanne asked.

"The matter of saving a condemned human life." The deposed monarch stopped his pacing to take a look at Enjolras. "I hear you are the youngest of the legislators here, Citizen Enjolras, and one of the most radical ones. It is...heartening to hear that it is you who have saved a venerable citizen from returning to the prisons, and is now taking the initiative in reforming the penal code. I had never thought to still find such a strong belief in mercy."

Enjolras looked Louis Philippe in the eye. "It is not mercy but justice. The time for enforcing tyranny in the name of supposed correction is long past. What must follow is the changing of the circumstances that have become the root of criminality, such that that these depths will be forever consigned to history. This is a society that will uplift and not demean the human condition."

Louis Philippe's smile was grave. "That is the thought of every generation," he said softly as a loud knock sounded on the door.

' _If every generation believed otherwise, then there would be little point in the continued existence of the human race,'_ Enjolras thought as he looked towards Feuilly, who was just entering the room. "News from the consulate?" he asked his friend.

Feuilly adjusted his straw hat. "From the barracks. Some of the perpetrators of the murders at the court martial have admitted to collusion with our émigrés in England."He nodded curtly to Louis-Philippe. "It seems as if you will be exonerated easily, Citizen."

Louis Philippe's shoulders sagged with relief even as the guards outside announced that the session was about to be reconvened. "All his faults on display at a time like this," Jeanne pronounced as soon as Louis-Philippe was out of earshot. "It is no wonder his situation is untenable."

"So he is here without any intent to regain the throne?" Feuilly asked.

"It would appear to be so," Enjolras said. "It does not seem that he has rallied any sort of support."

"So these émigrés are acting to put someone else in power, or are they merely seizing an opportunity to further themselves?" Feuilly asked.

"I would rather that it was the former. The latter reason though may limit itself even as we speak," Jeanne remarked ruefully as they went to the assembly hall.

The speech that Louis Philippe gave was just as Jeanne had predicted, mainly a reiteration of his travels through the continent and an avowal of his innocence with regard to the recent counterrevolutionary activities. It was eventually decided on, and approved by Lafayette, that Louis Philippe would be conducted to Austria, first to meet the diplomat and Austrian foreign minister Metternich as a matter of courtesy, and then he would be conveyed to reside under the notice of the French consul there. The assembly also voted to grant Lafayette the emergency powers to order and preside over an investigation of the garrison and its unexpected guests, as well as to temporarily delegate to the National Guard the defence of the city. This would be the only irregularity in the upcoming days; the rest of the government's business such as hearings on petitions, committee work, and implementation of the new price schemes would proceed as scheduled. By the time these deliberations were sufficiently concluded, it was already half past twelve in the morning.

Within an hour, Enjolras arrived at the Rue Jean-Jacques Rousseau. He let himself into the house as quietly as possible, knowing that not even the most insomniac of his neighbours could stand to be awake at this unholy hour. When he finally got to his apartment, he found Eponine fast asleep on one side of his bed, her cheek still pressed to an open page of a hefty book. It was a little startling to see her in this vulnerable way, especially considering the more formidable attitudes he'd seen her in over the past twenty-four hours. ' _Was that all yesterday?'_ he asked himself incredulously as he deftly slid the book away from her and put it on his desk, taking care to keep it open to the same page. After undressing so that he was in his shirt and trousers, he carefully got into bed, taking care to keep a little space between him and Eponine as a concession to propriety. After all, it would have been very inconsiderate to wake her up for the mere purpose of asking her to go back to her room, but he wasn't amenable to sleeping on the floor in his condition.

It was only a matter of time though till he heard her stir and inch closer to him. He opened his eyes in time to see her nestle her head under his chin as she draped one arm over his midsection, taking care not to jostle his injured shoulder. "Eponine, go back to sleep," he whispered.

She pulled him even closer and let out what sounded like a happy sigh as she buried her nose in his chest. "How long have you been home?" she murmured drowsily.

"Only a short while," he mumbled as he grasped her hand firmly. After the harrowing events of the day, it was simply enough to be with her again, in a place where no harm could come to them. He finally felt a much more welcome exhaustion overcome him as he kissed the top of her head and felt her smile against his skin, just moments before he finally dozed off.

When Enjolras opened his eyes again, it was already dawn, judging by the pallid light on the wall nearest the bed. ' _Right on time again, '_ he thought, glad that his usual knack for waking up when he wanted to hadn't failed him even in his previously spent state. He could feel Eponine's light breathing as well as the slight roughness of fingers brushing against his palm; she hadn't let go of his hand the entire night. For a few more moments he contented himself with watching how the sunlight caught in Eponine's hair, bringing out its rich reddish brown color. It was not something he'd actively noticed before, at least not till yesterday when he'd seen her at Saint-Etienne.

Before he could gently shake her awake he heard her mumble his name as she stirred. The way her curves pressed against his torso was nothing short of exquisite and he heard his breath catch quite audibly. He looked down to meet her sleepy grin a split second before she kissed him. "Good morning Antoine," she whispered against his lips. "How are you feeling?"

"Good," Enjolras replied. Somehow getting a little sleep did a great deal to lessen the discomfort of his injury. "Why did you end up reading in here?" he asked, pulling away slightly to get a better look at her.

"Didn't want to disturb my brothers," Eponine explained. "I could only get to it after they'd all gotten to sleep; it was hard for Jacques last night. What happened at the Hotel de Ville?"

"As expected, Citizen Louis Philippe insisted on his innocence; his story is convincing but he still cannot remain in France. He will have to go into exile again, but be under tighter scrutiny," he said as he began running his fingers through the ends of her hair.

"I s'pose it is better than other consequences. So who was behind all that trouble?"

"Some émigrés. As to  _how_  they did it, that remains to be seen."

She nodded seriously as she took in this information. "I do not think the answer to that will be nice."

"Nor do I, but it is necessary to get the bottom of the matter, in order to properly put an end to it," he pointed out as he got out of bed, despite the very tempting idea of simply lingering there and conversing with Eponine. ' _The day isn't going to wait for us,'_ he reminded himself as he rummaged for a clean waistcoat and a coat.

In the meantime Eponine retrieved her book, smiling when she realized what Enjolras had done there. "I'm going to visit Musichetta after the committee hearing later. If we had known that all that trouble yesterday was going to happen, we wouldn't have made such a fuss about her being nervous about her own wedding."

"What do you mean by nervous?"

"Fretting about whether it was the right thing and all. I s'pose it's all because it's such a big thing to consider, or to actually do."

Enjolras had to fight to keep a straight face as he recalled again how Eponine had looked during the wedding, or even his own train of thought during the ceremony. ' _This is not the time to consider such things,'_ he chided himself silently as he finished putting on his shoes. "I'll see you downstairs in a while," he said before kissing her till he suddenly felt her hand tug on his shirt. "Eponine?" he asked concernedly as he pulled away.

She smiled softly as she placed a finger on his lips. "I love you."

"What?"

"You heard me," she said before quickly going to her apartment.

Enjolras stared after her in astonishment for a moment before quickly heading out to get breakfast, before the Thenardier boys or the concierge could ask any questions or take notice of the situation. He was sure that if his friends could see him at that moment, he would receive no end of teasing and joking about his suddenly very improved mood. ' _Then again it's not as if I didn't already guess what she means,'_ he thought, yet all the same some part of him felt more uplifted on hearing her declaration.

On his way back from the bakery, he caught sight of Combeferre trudging back to the tenement, rubbing his eyes. The physician blinked wearily at Enjolras. "I see I'm in time for breakfast," he said with a yawn.

Enjolras nodded sympathetically. "You were alone on all-night duty again?"

"No. We had many patients, from the barracks, from the court-martial, and even a few bystanders from the wedding procession. Quite a few mortalities too, especially from the court-martial. That was where the attack was the most brutal; we were only involved in the overflow and as an afterthought. No one would have thought of going after Joly if his name had not been mentioned in the court martial proceedings," Combeferre replied. He winced and rubbed his temples. "What is particularly disturbing is that all this injury and death seems to have come about from discontent regarding the military's role in the government."

"There is also the element of émigré collusion," Enjolras pointed out.

"It has found a fertile ground in this present state of disgruntlement. There are apparently some officers who feel as if they have not been given their due for their role in last year's fighting and turning the tide."

"If they want more authority in political affairs, it will be impossible. They cannot overstep their present boundaries in a civilian government."

Combeferre took a deep breath as they reached the tenement. "There are some who believe that a more militarized state is necessary for the Republic's stability. I believe that it would achieve the veneer of an absence of conflict, but it would lead to tyranny as opposed to an actual lasting peace." He smiled on hearing the familiar chatter of the Thenardier siblings on the ground floor. "Claudine is very optimistic about the outcome of the third hearing today. I heard though it will only be Eponine and her friend Citizenness Legendre speaking with the committee today."

"At least they are both knowledgeable in the matter and tenacious. That should be enough to overcome  _some_  difficulties," Enjolras said. ' _Assuming that the difficulties are mainly of argumentation,'_ he noted to himself as he and Combeferre joined their neighbours for breakfast. After this Combeferre headed to his third floor room to take a nap, while the rest of the house's occupants went to see to their respective affairs. For Enjolras this meant meeting with Marius about some precedents he wished to review as part of some research concerning other smaller resolutions being deliberated on in the legislature.

Even before Enjolras could knock on the door of 6 Rue des Filles du Calvaire, he could hear the sound of heated arguing from the second floor. ' _That sounds like Citizen Gillenormand and his daughter,'_ he noted as he knocked several times. His apprehension was only confirmed when Basque met him at the door, shaking his head. "You have arrived at a bad time, Citizen," Basque greeted.

"Basque, let him in. We'll talk out of the way, in my study," Marius said from elsewhere in the front hall. The younger barrister had a wild, stunned appearance. "My grandfather and my aunt are arguing. My cousin is here; Aunt insists he will be better cared for in this house than at the barracks infirmary. He was involved in the attack yesterday, the one we were in," he explained.

Enjolras raised an eyebrow on hearing of this highly irregular turn of events. "The row concerns what then in particular?"

Marius let out a weary sigh. "Grandfather does not want Theodule to be here since he nearly endangered me and Cosette. Aunt of course will have none of it especially since Theodule insists that he was deceived as to yesterday's action and was merely following orders. Neither will relent even if Cosette and Father have already tried to intervene."

Before Enjolras could comment on this, he saw another familiar figure hurrying down the stairs. "Good morning Citizen Valjean."

Marius turned and gaped at his father-in-law, who was dressed as if to go out. "Father, I did not know you have an early appointment," he said.

"I wouldn't normally have one, Marius. This is an emergency," Jean Valjean said, bringing a note out of his pocket. "Toussaint handed me this to me when she came from the Rue deL'Ouest today. Montparnasse needs help again, or rather, a friend of his needs succour, more than simply medical assistance, after being wounded at the court martial yesterday."

Enjolras nodded, almost dreading the answer. "Which friend is this, if it is not imprudent to ask?"

Jean Valjean cleared his throat before giving Enjolras and Marius a grave look. "Lucien Babet."


	70. Chapter 70: Anniversaire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: And finally a birthday chapter! This is out a little later than I'd planned thanks to NaNoWriMo and a new semester kicking in.
> 
> The novel Les Morlacques really exists. It was written in the late 18th century by a lady of English descent, Giustiniana Wynne (also later known as the Countess Rosenberg), residing in Padua. One can read more about her in di Robilant's book "A Venetian Affair", which is a rather intriguing read in itself.

**Chapter 70: Anniversaire**

For years after, Eponine would consider the day she turned eighteen as a day of slightly unfortunate convergences. This happened to be on the third of April, two days after the colourful events surrounding her friends' wedding. It also happened to be on the Wednesday of Holy Week of that year.

' _Another year without any sort of nice celebration,'_ Eponine groused silently as she straightened up her desk in the Stendhals' front office. It did not help that Odette had insisted on an early start to the day's work in order to free up the afternoon since she had some relatives visiting. Nevertheless there was now a window of time that Eponine was determined to make the best use of, if only to make the next few days easier on her.

"You're heading out already, Eponine?" Odette asked as she stepped into the front office. She was dressed in a dainty purple gown that was suitable for half-mourning as well as for receiving visitors. "Why don't you join me and Emile for lunch?"

"I wish I could but I have some visits to make," Eponine said apologetically.

Odette clucked her tongue. "You are always far too busy, my dear. I heard from Emile that it's your birthday today. I want you to use this to celebrate with your siblings and your friends," she said as she handed two five franc pieces to Eponine.

"Really?" Eponine asked incredulously.

"You've done far more than you should have, both for me and Emile," Odette insisted, curling Eponine's fingers over the coins. "I am sure if your mother could see you now she'd be very proud of you."

Eponine managed a smile despite the feeling of something pricking at her eyes. "I s'pose she'd be happy that I'm not on the streets; that's good enough," she answered wryly. "I'll stop by here on Saturday if you need me to finish some things."

"You do not have to. I'd hate to interrupt the holiday. The rest of these documents can wait till Monday, after Easter," Odette said. "Now run along before you're late to wherever it is you were going."

"Thank you Odette!" Eponine said, pocketing the coin before heading out into the street.

It was nearly noon, a perfect hour for the errand at hand since it guaranteed some semblance of safety, more so since Eponine was determined to carry out her next errand on her own, more for the safety of her sibling and her friends than anything else. ' _Anyway everyone is rushing things today because it is Holy Thursday tomorrow and all work needs to be done by then,'_ she mused as she headed out to a street corner to look for an omnibus. Despite her best efforts she still had to alight a good way from the Rue deL'Ouest and walk the rest of the way, even when a downpour suddenly darkened this spring day.

Much to her surprise it was Montparnasse who greeted her at the gate. He had long recovered from the injuries he'd sustained during winter, and now looked the part of the young master of the house in a neat though much darned tailcoat. "You really  _are_  a sight, Eponine," he said as he let her in the house.

Eponine rolled her eyes as she tossed her wet pelisse onto a rickety seat. "Is Babet here with you?"

"Yes, and the Changer too. He arrived here this morning," Montparnasse replied, frowning at the water that Eponine had tracked in. "So who told you we were here?"

"I heard through the roundabout." There was no need to explain that she had found out about the matter through Enjolras' disclosing what had transpired at the Rue des Filles du Calvaire.

Montparnasse merely nodded. "I see you haven't brought any detective friends along with you or even Citizen Enjolras."

"You fellows wouldn't talk to any detectives or police. As for Enjolras, he is busy today," Eponine repliedas she followed Montparnasse upstairs to the third floor apartment. The room was lit only with a single candle, more for the sake of secrecy than economy. Nevertheless there was still light enough for Eponine to clearly recognize Babet seated in an armchair, with both legs swathed in bandages all the way up past his knees. The Changer was standing by the window, refilling his pipe. Both men appeared to have aged a great deal in the past few months since she'd seen them both; it was that or the dim light only made their shadowed faces seem more stark and eerie. ' _They'd look so much worse under the sunlight,'_ she thought.

Babet moved as if attempting to get to his feet, but only bit back a groan of pain as he sagged back in his seat. "I cannot be a gentleman and get up to give you my seat, Citizenness Thenardier," he said by way of greeting as Montparnasse closed the door. .

"I'm fine with standing, Citizen Babet," Eponine said, noting this change in how he addressed her; he had called her "Mademoiselle" when they'd last spoken just before the attack outside Notre Dame. She swallowed hard as she looked at him. "I'm glad you're here so I can thank you for trying to warn me at that rally. If I'd known what you were trying to say, maybe it might have turned out differently."

Babet adjusted his right leg. "I might have been too late. It's good that you didn't forget."

Eponine nodded contritely. "What brings you here, Citizen Isaac?" she asked, noticing the Changer's free hand nervously rapping the windowsill; a mannerism she had only seen twice from him in their years of being acquainted.

"I've had a horrible visit," the Changer replied, shaking his head. "I thought that putting that assassin in prison would be the end of it, but I wasn't counting on a visit from some of those lancers."

"That was why Babet here went to the court-martial to see what to do about it. Your courts have a fine way of caring for people," Montparnasse glowered.

"A court martial is military. It's not the same as the usual," Eponine pointed out, making sure to keep her back to the wall. "That matter is being fixed; that's part of what everyone is about today. I s'pose since you're snug here, there is no need to worry."

The Changer shook his head. "I am in need of a favour, Citizenness Thenardier. I helped you and Citizen Enjolras once, now it is your turn," he said gravely as he looked at her.

"I s'pose it would depend on what you need," Eponine said. "I won't do everything."

Babet swallowed hard. "We need a way out of Paris." He smiled on seeing Eponine's querulous expression. "No, nothing to do with papers and passports, all that trouble; we know you don't  _maquiller_  such things. We only need names."

"Names?" Eponine inquired, now feeling a little wary. "Do you mean names to simply be called by someplace, or names to meet, or names to actually write down?"

"The first," Montparnasse replied. "Your father had some names he used in the past, and we know he doesn't use them twice."

Eponine laughed as it dawned on her what these men intended to do. "It would only be of use if you stay away from making trouble again. One step in the wrong place and the police will be on you, and then everything else will certainly be found out. Then nothing anyone can do or say can help you out of that hole."

"You're making it difficult for us," Montparnasse said.

"I can help you leave Paris but what will you do once you're gone?" Eponine asked.

Babet gave the two young people pointed looks. "We'll be the judge of that, and we won't trouble you any longer once we leave. Are there any names you can spare?"

"I s'pose you can't use Jondrette; that was the one we were using during that ambuscade at Gorbeau," she said. She paused to try to recall some of the aliases she'd seen her father sign his missives with. "He's used Alveras, Balizard, Fabantou, and I think there was one Genflot. He's also tried using Devereaux, and more usual ones like Beaumont and Maillard," she said at length.

"What were the stories there?" Babet asked.

"Alveras was some army officer. Fabantou was a dramatic artist-oh be careful with that one, that was also to do with the Gorbeau affair. Balizard was a woman, but I s'pose you can create a Citizen Balizard. Genflot was also a man of letters but more of a poet. Devereaux might have been a carpenter. Beaumont was some sort of scholar, but I am not so sure why Maillard was a farmer," Eponine replied.

Babet snorted. "What a terrible pack! Montparnasse, if you dress badly enough, you can be Genflot."

Montparnasse glared at him as he fiddled with the bloom in his buttonhole. "I'd sooner leap off Saint-Cloud. A name won't do it though; we need a place to disappear to," he said, eyeing Eponine again.

"Going over the borders might be difficult; the watch there is pretty strict," the Changer said. "Again all because of that assassin."

Eponine bit her lip as she tried to imagine where these three men could hide. ' _They won't want to be peasants, so they'd have to go to a city. They might still need a little minding though,'_ she realized. Yet would there be anyone far enough from Paris who'd be up to this task? She took a deep breath as she looked at them again. "I s'pose Citizen Valjean or someone might know a good place far enough, maybe at the coast or something. I could ask around a little."

"What sorts of places might those be?" Montparnasse asked.

The Changer extinguished his pipe. "As long as it is safe and we cannot be found, I can take it." He looked at Babet and Montparnasse. "You can come with me or not."

Babet merely nodded while Montparnasse made a diffident gesture and fiddled with his buttonhole again. "I've never left Paris before," he said softly.

"It's better than the jail. You wouldn't know, you've never sat a day there," Eponine said.

Montparnasse looked at her ruefully. "Still angry that I got away that night at Gorbeau House and you didn't?"

Eponine shrugged. "That was a year ago, what can I do about it now?" She looked towards where the downpour was finally letting up. "I'll tell you if I find something. Goodbye Citizens."

"I'll see you out," Montparnasse suddenly chimed in, eliciting surprised looks from his friends. He followed Eponine downstairs to where she'd left her coat. "So I see you, Azelma and the boys are intent on remaining in Paris? I wouldn't be surprised if your old man left too one day."

"Azelma is happy here I s'pose, and I am sure that the boys hardly remember being anywhere else," Eponine replied as she shook out her still damp coat. "As for me, I like this city. You know I like to be where things are happening."

A ghost of a smile spread over Montparnasse's face. "If you remember, I liked you once."

"So did I, but that was when you and I were still silly children together," she said. "Ah but that was another time; you're a good man now and I s'pose you'll do fine wherever you go."

Montparnasse nodded as they went to the carriage gate. "Yes, if a provincial life does not bore me," he said. "You'd better watch out; you're no longer as good at hiding as you used to be."

"Maybe. I s'pose I got tired of it, especially when I've got more things I'd rather be doing."

"Smart girl. Give my regards to your siblings."

"I will. Goodbye Montparnasse." She walked away quickly down the Rue deL'Ouest, but stopped from time to time to look about and make sure she was not being followed or that no suspicious characters were making their way to the apartment. ' _I'd hate to give Citizen Valjean yet another thing to worry about,'_ she thought as she made her way to the schoolhouse. Since it was Holy Week, the primary schools were on half-holiday, and the students were dismissed from their classes beginning around one in the afternoon.

As usual she found her brothers playing with their schoolmates in the yard, under the watchful eye of the schoolmaster, a burly gentleman who went by the name of Guyon. On seeing her, the schoolmaster immediately got up from his seat near the door and went to meet her at the schoolyard gate. "It's good that you were able to come here right away, Citizenness Thenardier. I was worried that I'd have to wait here all afternoon till you finished your work for today."

"I'm also on some sort of half holiday," Eponine replied cordially. "How have my brothers been doing?"

"Neville is excelling as always. I am sure he will not have a problem with the exams before classes let out for the summer. Gavroche could do better; he's not falling behind or anything but his attention is often elsewhere and I have to keep telling him not to drift off," Guyon said. "At least he's no longer cussing in Occitan, like how I caught him doing so last fortnight," he added more lightly.

Eponine couldn't help but laugh a little at this. "What of Jacques?"

"He has a little difficulty with numbers, but that's not much of a worry as many of the other children do," Guyon replied. "His vocabulary is astounding for a child who is barely six years old. Of course he misuses some complicated words every now and then; today I told him to look up the word 'substantiate' before using it again in his composition. On the whole though, I am impressed. I'm sure he's been picking up well from the things you've been writing."

"Jacques doesn't read my writing," Eponine said confusedly. ' _I don't use those sorts of words all the time either,'_ she thought, glancing towards where her youngest brother had just tackled one of his playmates. "He probably learned it from one of my friends."

"It sounds like something a lawyer would say," Guyon remarked in a matter of fact tone. "All will be well, as long as they keep up their work between now and summer," he added reassuringly.

"I s'pose so. Thank you Citizen," Eponine said before going to meet her brothers. Suddenly she felt something slam into her and she looked down to see Jacques hugging her. "How are you  _petit_?"

Jacques gave her a toothy grin. "Gavroche said it's your birthday today!"

' _I can't believe he remembered,'_ Eponine thought as she looked to Gavroche, who smiled at her before he ran to get Neville from where he was still at play. She hadn't exactly told very many people that her birthday was coming up, and those people who knew were all busy that day. In fact she hadn't seen Enjolras ever since he'd arrived home at nearly midnight; he'd left for work long before anybody else could get up for breakfast.

After a few moments Gavroche returned with a very dusty Neville in tow. "Now you're no longer playing at being a lady," Gavroche told her cheekily.

"Hah, as if I could do something so grand?" Eponine retorted.

"He means you're older, Ponine," Neville chimed in, wiping his hands on his pants. "But not an old woman yet like Citizenness Leclair!"

"Now don't you start joking that way," Eponine warned. "You'll get to that age too."

"Yes and we'll all turn into eggs," Gavroche said, patting the top of his head, much to the laughter of their younger brothers.

After making sure her brothers had some lunch, albeit a little later than usual, Eponine set out for the Hotel de Ville to pick up the report from the committee hearing the day before. The place was relatively quiet when Eponine arrived; meetings had concluded early and only a few offices remained open in order to allow people to conclude their business. The committee report had been left with a particularly nervous looking clerk, whose jittery demeanor suddenly turned sober when he caught sight of Eponine. "I could not help but get a look, Citizenness. I wish the news was better," he said as he handed the report to her.

Despite this warning, Eponine still felt her heart sink when she saw the first page of the report covered in Bayard's handwriting spelling out the words, ' _Votation deferred'_ followed by a lengthy list of revisions that had to be made before the legislation could be put to a vote. ' _What does he want to do, bring away this petition entirely from what we originally intended?'_ she wondered as she stashed the report back in its envelope. She bit her lip before turning to see Allyce Legendre walking up, red in the face perhaps from having hurried straight from her own workplace.

The fishwife's eyebrows shot up almost to her hairline as she took in the sight of the report in Eponine's hand. "So it was rejected then?" Allyce demanded.

"Yes. I s'pose you should read the reasons for it," Eponine said, trying to remain calm despite the acridness in the older woman's tone.

"We might have had it approved if a different person had spoken up yesterday," Allyce snapped.

Eponine flushed at this jibe; she'd volunteered to explain a good many of the provisions during the committee hearing, but somehow the discussion degenerated into debating once again with Bayard about the question of wages. "I s'pose that if we could have found a third person to go along it would have been explained more easily," she replied more tersely.

"Yes that might have made a difference. You though were getting out of your place."

"You also said a lot of things Citizen Bayard didn't like to hear. That does make up part of the reason, I'm sure of it."

Allyce reddened further as she snatched the report out of Eponine's grip and leafed through it. "I hope that before the next hearing you've learned to control that tongue of yours," she said, shoving the papers back at Eponine. "We'll discuss this on Monday. I hope this gives you enough time to think about this seriously; our petition is the only one still lingering in the committees as almost all the others that were presented first have gone up for voting or are already passed. We'll meet after work at Saint-Merry," she admonished before turning to leave.

"I won't miss it," Eponine retorted before she went to sit on the stairs and looked over the report again. This time she felt something pricking at her eyes, more so when she pondered Allyce's words. ' _There has to be something more we could do to get this right,'_ she thought with a despondent sigh. She knew better than to seek out Enjolras at this particular time even if she figured he'd have some interesting insight on this matter; he had far too many things to finish before the end of the day, especially in the aftermath of Louis-Philippe's ill-timed visit. ' _I'll just have to tell Antoine about it later, maybe when I've thought it over a little more,'_ she decided as she got to her feet and headed back outside. Since it was early in the afternoon, she decided there was still enough time to drop by the Marais and discuss with Jean Valjean the best way to handle Montparnasse, Babet, and the Changer's predicament.

Much to her surprise, Jean Valjean was at work in the garden. He was on his knees as he tended to a lush looking strawberry plant. "I didn't know you knew how to do such things," Eponine blurted out by way of greeting.

Jean Valjean smiled amiably. "It's an occasional pastime. How can I help you?"

"I spoke with Babet and Montparnasse. They have another friend with them there; he's an old one we call now Citizen Isaac," Eponine began. "They want to leave Paris under other names and maybe do something elsewhere. Would that be right to do?"

The venerable man's face was grave and contemplative as he got to his feet. "It may be what they need. Have they mentioned what it is they want to do?"

"No. Babet said I don't need to concern myself with it. I was thinking they could go someplace wherein there would be someone who could watch them from time to time to make sure they do not do anything silly," Eponine explained. "Some town with a good friend or two. I could think of some places but I don't know anyone in Marseilles or Toulon, and I'm not sure it would be good to send them to Aix."

Jean Valjean's expression was both wry and mirthful. "You sound like you are looking for a keeper for children," he said.

"Sometimes Montparnasse can be a bit of a child," Eponine quipped.

At that moment a window quickly shut in the house; Cosette had been watching from the drawing room. In a few moments she was out in the garden. "Oh why are you two so serious?" she asked them lightly. She smiled at Eponine. "So how are you celebrating your birthday?"

Eponine's jaw fell. "How did you know?"

"I remembered there was something about early April when I was still living with your family. I asked Azelma and Enjolras about it, and they both mentioned it would be your birthday right about this time," Cosette replied.

"I haven't thought of anything, really."

"I have a present for you; I'll give it to you when you step inside for some tea. But what are you visiting here for?"

"Something to do with a friend," she replied. As she looked at Cosette again, she was struck by a sudden flash of inspiration. "I don't mean to be awful or anything Cosette, but would you know how I could write to Citizen Tholomyes?"

Cosette nodded confusedly. "He gave me his address in Toulouse. Why do you need it?"

"I know some people who might consider wanting to go there," Eponine said. "You don't mind if I write to him for help?"

"Not at all," Cosette said. "I'm sure he'd be more than happy to help." She patted her rounded middle a few times. "The little one is quite feisty today. Sometimes he catches me off-guard."

"How sure are you that you'll have a son?" Eponine asked.

Cosette merely smiled. "I just have a feeling. Marius wants a little girl though; I warned him that he'll be so wrapped around her little finger if that is to be so." She looked at Jean Valjean. "Don't you want to come inside? Nicolette should have the tea ready by now."

"In a little while, Cosette. I am sure you and Eponine will want to talk about a few things," Jean Valjean said kindly.

"Well don't be too long, or I'll ask Nicolette to bring the tea out for you then!" Cosette said before taking Eponine's arm to half-drag her in the house and into the drawing room. "I'm sure you'll find it useful even today," she added, noting the papers that Eponine still had with her. "How did that hearing go?"

"A disaster."

"That is terrible; they should have given it to a vote right away."

Eponine shrugged before Cosette left the room, her footsteps fading in the direction of the stairway. ' _When was the last time any one of us celebrated a birthday?'_ she wondered, trying to work back through memories of her family. Try as she may, the most recent she could truly recall was the birthday she'd spent before they had to quit Montfermeil for good.

In the depths of her reverie, she almost did not hear the heavy step in the doorway. "I did not expect to find you here, Eponine."

She glanced over her shoulder at the lancer standing in the drawing room doorway. "Good day Citizen Gillenormand. I thought you would be back at the barracks by now."

"I must recuperate a little longer, according to the physician," Theodule replied, gesturing to the bandage on the left side of his head.

Eponine frowned at the sight of this. "You were up to some sort of mischief there. I'm sure of it; I heard there's some sort of questioning going about."

"I had to stay with my men, we were attacked, and I had to act," Theodule said crossly. "We're being taken to task for it already; it is possible that I will have to be posted elsewhere from here on. My aunt is not happy about it."

"You would have had to leave at some point, isn't that what garrisons do?" Eponine pointed out.

At that point the drawing room door swung open. "Cousin, what are you doing here? Aunt will be angry you're walking about!" Cosette scolded Theodule. "Eponine, I'm sorry I took a little long."

"I'm fine. We were only chatting a little," Eponine replied.

Theodule gave her a doubtful look. "I had hoped to speak with you seriously."

' _What could he be possibly up to?'_ Eponine wondered warily. She crossed her arms as she looked at Theodule. "Now what about?" she asked as Cosette excused herself.

The lancer sighed deeply. "Can I ever dissuade you from what you are doing?"

Eponine rolled her eyes at this query, already knowing where this was going. After hearing of Theodule's terse discussion with Enjolras, the last thing she wanted was to revisit this topic. "I won't let you. What is it ever to you anyway?" she snapped.

"Because I adore you," he replied. "I would do anything to protect you, Eponine."

"You do not love me."

"Of course I do."

She shook her head. "You do not. I s'pose you wouldn't even remember me in a year, or when you do have to be elsewhere."

Theodule's mustaches twitched as he reached for her hand only to have her pull away. "Shouldn't you be asking yourself something similar? I was once under the impression you cared for me."

"I did, but I know now it never would have been enough," Eponine said, not hiding her irritation. She tried to push past him but he stepped directly in front of the door. "Do I have to kick you again someplace just so you'll let me pass?"

Theodule flinched slightly at this threat. "You will never have a peaceful life if you stay with him. Please consider this before it's too late to repent of this fancy."

Eponine burst out laughing. "A fancy! No, it is far, far more than just that. I'm sure of it."

"You're being a silly girl."

"That is all I will ever be to you. Not to him," she said as she finally managed to get past him and open the drawing room door. It was all she could do to keep a straight face when she found Cosette, Marius, and Aunt Gillenormand all waiting in the front room.

Marius merely gave his cousin a pointed look before stepping aside to let his aunt berate the errant lancer. "I didn't know it was your birthday, Eponine. I'm sorry he hassled you this way," he said apologetically as he led the ladies away from the drawing room.

"I s'pose he needs to hear it; if he's to leave Paris someday, I'd better set it straight," Eponine remarked. Her expression turned quizzical when she saw that Cosette was carrying a sort of rectangular bag in a thick green fabric. "What is that?"

"Something you'll find useful, I hope," Cosette said, unfolding the bag. "It's the right size to hold envelopes and papers, like the one you have now. Why don't you try it?"

Eponine grinned approvingly as she slipped the document she carried into the bag. Judging by Cosette's eager and slightly relieved smile, it was clear whose hand was behind this little innovation. "It's so elegant, and it will keep my things a little cleaner. Thank you for this."

"Especially since you're always so busy..." Marius trailed off as he saw his aunt practically ushering Theodule back upstairs. "I hate to see him in trouble, but he has to go back to the barracks by tomorrow. Some sort of discipline waiting for him there, but it's not a court martial. I think the generals are trying to avoid demoralizing the garrison by limiting the use of harsh judicial proceedings."

Cosette shuddered visibly. "It's a horrible business. I heard though that the former king, I mean Citizen Louis Philippe simply agreed to leave?"

"Yes. I s'pose he figured it was the best way to avoid trouble," Eponine replied. She did not even want to think what would have happened if the deposed king had asserted any sort of claim; there was no way Paris could stand another emeute.

Marius shook his head, clearly also caught up in disturbed musings. "I believe in a Republic nowadays, but I should never want to fight at another barricade," he said.

"Yes; you shouldn't scare me half to death like you did last year," Cosette chided. "Now we'd really better get some of that tea before it gets cold!"

Eponine decided to stay for only an hour, long enough to at least dwell on less sordid conversation, before finally heading back to the Latin Quartier. She went first to Prouvaire and Azelma's apartment, in order to see if her sister would be free to join them for dinner. Not surprisingly, the apartment was quiet and the concierge informed her that 'they went off to some celebration' just half an hour earlier. ' _Probably off someplace with music,'_ she thought as she returned to the Rue Jean Jacques Rousseau. Since it was spring, the sun was only beginning to set now, bathing the city in a fantastical gold twilight. ' _Almost like an old story,'_ Eponine noted as she raced the rest of the way home.

Citizenness Leclair met her at the door, clearly trying to hold back a fit of laughter. "Your brothers aren't here. Azelma, Prouvaire, and Combeferre came by and brought the boys with them to the Musain."

"The Musain! I had thought to bring them out to dinner someplace myself," Eponine said, a little cross at having her own plans pre-empted. "I s'pose I am to follow them?"

"What else?" the concierge replied. "Now you'd better dress up a little bit. Your sister told me to make sure you did so."

' _What else can possibly be afoot?'_ Eponine wondered as she went to her room to set down her things and freshen up a little. She settled for washing her face and her hands and then combing out her hair, which had gotten a little tangled and dishevelled from a whole day of travel. Putting on a fresh dress or even a less stained pair of gloves was out of the question; she would not be able to send any clothes to the washerwoman till Monday. She sighed a little resignedly with this hurried toilette before grabbing her reticule and the ten francs she'd been given earlier that day. ' _If I'd known a little earlier I might have thought it out more,'_ she thought as she headed outside.

As she walked to the Place Saint-Michel, she happened to catch sight of a familiar figure exiting a bookshop. ' _He stands out even in this light,'_ she thought as she quickened her steps to catch up with Enjolras. She was a few paces away from him when he turned and finally caught sight of her. "I saw you even at the bookshop," she informed him by way of greeting.

"You practically caught me in the act then," he said, his expression both guilty and bemused.

"Ah, isn't it usually the other way around?" she quipped. "What have you got there?"

"Something for you; I had hoped to give it to you at home."

"That is, before I caught you with the evidence. Now what is it?"

Enjolras handed over a rather old but clearly very carefully preserved novel. "It's called ' _Les Morlacques'._ It was written by a Countess Rosenberg, who grew up in Venice. You might like it."

"A novel by an  _authoress_?"

"I am surprised you sound so astonished by it."

"I s'pose not, but it cannot have been too widely read. Most of the things around are written by gentlemen," Eponine said as she gingerly flipped through the book. It seemed to be a tragic story set in Dalmatia, a place she'd only heard about in some of her friends' stories and once on a map. ' _Well now I know what I might be reading from now till Monday,'_ she thought, all the while smiling widely. "Thank you, Antoine. I know this wasn't easy to find."

"It  _is_  your birthday," he said in a matter-of-fact tone, but the way he looked at her was enough to further signify the relief he clearly felt on seeing her happy with this present. "Were you on your way to the Musain already?"

"Ah, so you know about that!" she exclaimed.

"Combeferre, Prouvaire, and of course your sister reminded me of it on several occasions today," Enjolras explained dryly. "I fear I may have spoiled their surprise a little."

"No, that is what they will get for trying to sneak around," she quipped before looking through the book again. "Now I do not know what I shall find for  _your_  birthday."

"That is a long time from now, a little less than half a year," he reminded her.

The mention of this span of time was enough to make Eponine pause. ' _And where will we be then?'_ she couldn't help but wonder as she looked at Enjolras. Now that she thought about it, it had been perhaps half a year, maybe a little more, since they'd become friends and neighbours. Somehow it felt like a whole lifetime had passed in that handful of months. What more could possibly await them in the months, or dare she think it, years after?

In a moment she felt his hand around hers, such that she could feel his callused fingers even through her glove. "Now what are you thinking about?' he asked curiously.

"I'm only doing a little imagining," Eponine said. ' _Do you ever wonder about it, like I do?'_ she wanted to ask him, but the question was almost too embarrassing to ask in public. Yet it stood to reason after all; between the two of them, he always the one who more clearly envisioned the future, and more importantly, was bold enough to do something about it. ' _Perhaps he does then,'_ she thought, feeling her spirits lift further as she and Enjolras went to find their friends at the Musain.


	71. Chapter 71: Seasons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: In which politics starts taking a turn for the sane, but another reality of life catches up with the gang. Warnings here for quite a bit of discussion about guns as well as a deathbed scene.

 

**Chapter 71: Seasons**

"It's not a sin to be doing this on Good Friday, isn't it?"

Bahorel burst out laughing at his mistress' innocent query. "This day is not a Sabbath, my dear," he said before handing her a fresh cartridge from a small wicker basket. "I dare the priests to find a commandment or beatitude we're violating with our activities here."

"Yes, but I do not think anyone considers small-arms practice as pious—another reason for us to do this outside of the city limits," Leonor said dryly as she inspected the pistol she had just finished loading. "Isn't thirty paces a little  _near_  even for pistols?" she asked, gesturing to a row of five bottles set up atop a large rock.

"Well not all of us are fine with forty paces," Eponine pointed out. She covered her ears as a single sharp report pierced the morning. "That had to be sixty paces!" she exclaimed, pointing to a shattered wine bottle set up towards a more distant rock face.

"More of fifty-five paces," Enjolras replied dryly as he carefully sidestepped to allow Feuilly to take his place on their makeshift firing line.

"Fifty-five paces if you're walking maybe; for some of us it would be sixty," Feuilly said as he carefully held his rifle almost at eye level. He was the only one in this group who carried this sort of gun; everyone else had only brought pistols, mostly owing to the fact that this venture had been rather hastily organized, leaving little time for anyone to find muskets.

"Perhaps," Enjolras said before he looked around the abandoned quarry he and his friends were using to practice their marksmanship; although it was already midmorning it was unlikely that any passerby would inadvertently intrude on them. ' _More so since the Courgourde no longer needs to meet here in secrecy,'_ he noted.

He realized now that it had been about a year since the last time he'd been to this place, on the same day he'd caught Grantaire at his failed errand to Richefu's. All the same, this quarry on the plain of Issy seemed unchanged from his previous visit; there were no footprints or signs of human activity and detritus in the place. No birdsongs or rustlings of animals could be heard for within a quarter of a mile. There was still an air of mystery and slight desolation to this place which could not be banished by any amount of laughter or boisterous conversation. It was in an eerie sense, almost kindred to a graveyard.

Yet perhaps it seemed now to Enjolras that the grimness that had prevailed over this place a year ago was now lifting and giving way to a more pleasant sort of tranquillity. For one thing he was not here to make secret plans; this venture was educational as well as a means to get away from the somber religious spell reigning over the city. It helped that the weather was unusually warm for early April, such that there was almost no need to wear coats and pelisses; in fact Enjolras had set aside his coat and his cravat at the beginning of their target practice.

Meanwhile Feuilly had already fired his two pistols, taking out one bottle at forty paces and another at the fifty five pace mark. "How are we going to clean this all up?" he asked, eyeing all the broken glass scattered around the place.

"I s'pose we sweep it up someplace and hide it under a rock," Eponine remarked as she went up to the firing line, also carrying two pistols. "I'd have an easier time if these pistols didn't jump about a little in our hands each time we fire them," she groused, aiming at the row nearest them.

"You have to prepare for it. All guns do that," Therese advised, motioning for Eponine to adjust her grip on the weapon.

Eponine bit her lip she tried to follow her friend's instructions and then fired the pistol. She scowled when she saw that the bullet had barely glanced one of the bottles. "First too far to the left, then too far to the right," she muttered.

"You'd actually hit it if you stopped  _openly_  flinching," Leonor chided, shaking some dust off her dark blue riding habit.

"I s'pose I already know that, Leonor."

"They say that the third time is the charm; you'll hit the target this time," Bahorel pointed out cheerily.

"This one will be the fourth; the first did not get anywhere," Eponine said through gritted teeth as she held up her second pistol. This time the shot went in towards the bottom of the leftmost bottle, shattering it with a satisfying crash. "How do you all manage to hit something properly  _each time_  around, like at the barricade?" she asked bemusedly.

"Sometimes we don't exactly take aim," Feuilly pointed out.

"What do you mean?"

"It's different when one is sharpshooting as opposed to just firing regular volleys at an enemy," Enjolras explained. By nature and training he was more of the first, but he could also see the merits in the discipline that the second form of marksmanship entailed. He finished loading his own pistol and went to the firing line to take another shot at the last bottle near the rock face. He took a deep breath as he held the gun in place and pulled the trigger, taking out this final target.

"I worried that all this time behind desks would have an adverse effect on you. Fortunately it hasn't," Bahorel remarked approvingly over the cheers and applause of the rest of the group. He handed his pistol to Therese. "Are you up for another round?"

Therese grinned just as a sudden gust of wind blew through the quarry. "Well maybe in a few minutes-oh there go some of our hats!" she cried, pointing to the pile of discarded hats, coats, and pelisses.

"And the basket of cartridges! Gilles don't stand there, help me with this!" Leonor shouted, seeing the basket tip over in the breeze.

Enjolras heard Eponine throw down her pistol before she ran off towards the back of the quarry to chase after her bonnet, which had also gotten caught in the breeze. ' _There's a steep slope right at that side,'_ he recalled, quickly walking after her to make sure she stayed away from danger. A number of friends had very nearly tumbled into the precipices and ravines around this place, usually when a little inebriated towards the end of a meeting.

He caught up with Eponine just as she was retrieving her hat from a prickly bush. "I cannot believe you, Coutard, and so many others used to meet here," she said as she shook some thorns out of her hat.

"This place has escape routes," Enjolras said, gesturing to the twisting paths all around the rock faces. He swallowed hard as he looked at Eponine; her hair had gotten out of the pins holding it back behind her ears and was now falling to frame her face most becomingly. "We should return to the others."

Eponine shook her head as she stepped away to run her hands over a bumpy rock. "Not yet," she said, giving him a knowing grin. She grabbed his hand to pull him to her side. "I kind of like looking at these. They're almost as pretty as the statues down at the promenades. I sometimes think the sculptors  _see_  the statues in these rocks before making them."

"This quarry was for more practical purposes such as rocks for roadwork," Enjolras said. Nevertheless he could appreciate what a more imaginative or fanciful eye could see in the rough crags surrounding them. "These rocks would have been broken up though."

"That's a shame," Eponine said, quickly driving the heel of her right boot into one of the crevices on a nearby boulder. In a few moments she'd scaled the rock and seated herself on top of it such that she was practically face to face with him.

"Not content with the view?" Enjolras quipped as he stepped closer to her.

She laughed as she ran her fingers over his shoulders, deftly tracing his collarbones through his waistcoat and on towards the bare skin of his throat. "Oh how did you know?"

He looked her in the eye as he brought her left hand to his lips and kissed the bare skin of her palm, making her breath catch quite audibly. "It was only a guess."

Eponine beckoned for him to lean in closer and brushed her lips over the angle of his jaw, not hiding her mischievous grin when she saw his eyes widen at the contact. "I like looking at you from up here," she whispered breathily in his ear.

Enjolras smiled at this understatement before brushing her hair out of her face and capturing her mouth with his. He felt her lips part almost immediately under his as she returned his kiss eagerly. For a moment he caught a whiff of the harsh smell of soap lingering on her skin, but it was mingled with a deeper, sweeter scent that he knew to be uniquely hers. It was a maddening combination, more so when she slipped her arms around his neck and pressed her body flush against his, nearly throwing them off balance. He grabbed her by her hips to steady her as he pulled her off her seat, but before he could safely set her on her feet she wrapped her legs around his waist.

Eponine giggled at this unusual position; the very sound was enough to deepen the blush rising to Enjolras' cheeks. "You're not embarrassed by this?" she asked slowly as she twisted some strands of his hair around her fingers.

"No. It might just take some getting used to," he admitted in a low voice, adjusting his hold on her so she wouldn't slip. He knew there was a high probability that their friends would walk in on them, but somehow this lent a certain thrill to this moment, which was only magnified when he met her gaze; she too was enjoying this slight risk. He dropped a kiss on the crook between her neck and her shoulder, lingering as she let out a needy whimper and dug the heels of her boots into his back. He gritted his teeth at the slight discomfort but soon he found himself distracted by the feel of her lips brushing over his ear before making a trail of kisses down his jaw all the way to the side of his neck. All the while her hands were running through his hair, tugging lightly every now and then. "Eponine..." he groaned when he felt her mouth moving down to the neckline of his shirt.

She grinned mischievously before pressing her lips to the hollow of his throat. "You like it?"

He found himself nodding as he dug his fingers into her hips, making her moan before she continued to kiss her way down to his collarbones. After a while he could feel his arms beginning to ache with the effort of holding her up, so he moved to a spot on the ground that was not littered with rocks and then sat down so he could pull her into his lap. He had an even better view of her in this more comfortable position; the sight of her flushed cheeks and her dark eyes was reason enough for him to want to spend the rest of the morning kissing her senseless.

Eponine shifted a little to get more comfortable in his arms before she kissed his cheek. "Maybe we should sit like this more often," she quipped.

Enjolras had to bite back a groan at this suggestion; it was becoming more and more difficult to control his arousal especially when she talked that way. "This can't always be good for either of us."

"Oh?" Eponine asked, idly placing a hand on his knee. "I don't hear you objecting very much to it."

"Point taken," Enjolras concurred before kissing her passionately once again, this time bringing one hand up to run down her back, only to trace languid circles on her hips. One of her hands moved lightly over his chest and then on to the buttons of his waistcoat, while her other hand tightened its grip in his hair. Eventually the need for air became too great and he pulled away to let them both catch their breath, leaning his forehead against hers as she held on to his arms. He saw that she had shut her eyes so he planted light kisses on her eyelids and the tip of her nose till he heard her giggle as she took his hands and pressed them to her flushed face.

Suddenly a rustling sound followed by a cough came from the direction of one of the rocky paths leading out of the quarry. "Come on, keep up!" Navet's voice shouted from some distance away. "This isn't a field you know!"

Eponine's eyes widened with shock as she and Enjolras tried to get to their feet. They just managed this feat a mere moment before Navet, accompanied by Inspector Thierry Perrot, entered the clearing. Perrot's eyes widened as he caught sight of the pair before he cleared his throat in an attempt to regain his composure. "Good morning. Would you know where Citizen Combeferre is?" he asked.

"He has the morning shift at the Necker today," Enjolras replied. "Is something the matter?"

"A message for him from Picpus, to be more exact the lady at Picpus," Navet said, puffing out his chest in an attitude of self-importance.

"The lady, you mean Claudine Andreas?" Eponine asked.

"Well the old man's daughter; he's gone a bad way and now cannot get up or move even a toe. He needs doctoring," Navet replied, scratching at a sore spot on his leg. "She gave me this note as some sort of explanation," he added, handing over a much folded sheet of paper.

"Your concierge thought that Citizen Combeferre had accompanied you and your friends to this place," Perrot explained. "So you will relay the message to him?" he asked Enjolras and Eponine.

"After fetching some things," Enjolras replied, leading the way back to where they had left their friends.

When they arrived, Feuilly and Leonor were getting ready to fire at a bottle placed seventy paces away, while Therese and Bahorel were simply conversing. Therese jumped to her feet on seeing them. "What are you doing here, Thierry?" she asked the inspector.

"Simply assisting this gamin here," Perrot said, gesturing to Navet before proceeding to explain the rest of the situation.

Bahorel's forehead furrowed at the close of the tale. "Combeferre may need a black cravat by the end of the day," he remarked. "Not to doubt his abilities or anything, but it sounds like he and Claudine are up against the inevitable."

"The very limit of medicine," Enjolras concurred as he began retying his cravat.

Bahorel winced before he looked Enjolras over. "Something is different..." he said, quickly going over to take a look at his friend's back before the latter could protest. "What have you and Eponine been up to, there's something in the shape of a boot-" he quipped.

"Nothing of particular consequence," Enjolras said sternly as he donned his coat. He saw Eponine adjusting her pelisse as she explained the situation to Feuilly and Leonor; Leonor's normally cool expression was now morose as she crossed herself, while Feuilly was shaking his head. "Eponine, you can stay here longer if you wish to," Enjolras said to her.

"I thought I'd go on ahead to Picpus and help out Claudine. I'm sure she could use it, since it might take some time for you to find Combeferre," she said.

Enjolras nodded approvingly at this course of action; it was probable that Claudine could use some company, or even practical assistance. He looked to Navet, who was scratching himself again. "Go on to the Rue Jean Jacques Rousseau. Gavroche is there now."

"Is there breakfast?" Navet asked eagerly.

"When we left, there was. You'd better hurry," Eponine chimed in.

Navet grinned good-naturedly. "He's got a belly deeper than the Seine. Wonder where he puts all of it," he said before following Enjolras and Eponine out of the quarry; Perrot lingered to converse with Bahorel and Therese.

The trio parted ways just outside Richefu's at the Barriere Du Maine; Eponine took a fiacre to the neighbourhood of Picpus, Navet claimed he knew a shortcut to the Rue Jean Jacques Rousseau, while Enjolras headed for the Necker. Despite the fact that it was a holiday, the hospital was still busy owing to the fact that some people who'd been injured in the attacks earlier in the week were now finally being sent home. The premises were crowded with patients being assisted by their family members, as well as a number of bystanders inquiring about relatives who were still receiving treatment or awaiting the doctor's permission to leave the hospital. An intern directed Enjolras towards one of the second floor wards, where Combeferre had been assigned for the day.

He arrived in time to see Bayard storming out of the ward with a contemptuous sneer on his face. The senior physician stopped to look over Enjolras from head to toe. "What brings you here?" he asked.

"I have a message for Citizen Combeferre. There is an emergency concerning another patient of his," Enjolras replied.

"Who is this, the father of Citizenness Andreas?" Bayard scoffed.

Enjolras' eyebrows shot upwards. "Yes, and what of it then?"

"The woman is well-read, she can nurse him herself."

"Perhaps Citizen Combeferre should be allowed to assess this situation first. He has been attending to Citizen Andreas for some time now, and would have some insight as to the care required."

Bayard chuckled mockingly. "Such gallantry is not necessary, especially towards those who only usurp authority in a field that is not their own. I suggest you leave us be to our business."

"You are preventing care from reaching a citizen in need, and at the same time hindering a colleague from practicing his profession," Enjolras retorted, meeting Bayard's condescending expression with a cold glare. Bayard paled and stepped back, which was enough for Enjolras to walk towards the door of the ward, where he could see Combeferre taking notes as he walked away from a cot with a sleeping patient.

Combeferre looked up from his writing and gave Enjolras a questioning look before hurrying over to his friend. "Enjolras, what are you doing here? You couldn't have finished target practice so early," he asked confusedly.

"I quit it early, to be exact. You're needed at Picpus; Citizen Andreas requires medical attention; he is abed and apparently immobilized," Enjolras said in an undertone.

Combeferre's usually calm expression crumpled as he looked down. "So it begins," he murmured. "Wait a moment, Enjolras; I will go there shortly but first I must endorse my cases to another attending," he added before quickly walking to where another physician was also taking notes. After conferring with his colleague for a couple of minutes, Combeferre went to a small sort of cloakroom and returned with his overcoat and his satchel. "Do you know anything more of what happened?" he asked Enjolras as they made their way downstairs.

Enjolras passed the note that Navet had given him earlier. "It should all be there."

Combeferre's face was stricken as he read the note. "As I feared; I can do only so much but I am still needed. I had hoped he would live to see another summer." He looked at Enjolras gratefully. "Thank you for coming all the way here to tell me."

Enjolras clasped Combeferre's shoulder; it went without saying that he would now accompany Combeferre to Picpus and perhaps wait the next few hours there with him. "It's a good thing that many of your other patients seem to be on the mend," he remarked, noticing another man walking out of one of the wards, all the while leaning heavily on a friend.

"That being a slight grace. Those from the Rue de Babylone garrison will be transferred out to various other postings; I hear that Theodule Gillenormand is one of them," Combeferre said.

Enjolras nodded understandingly; this was one way of reducing and containing the influence of these would-be-mutineers. There were inherent risks in this move, but he hoped that the presence of astute and vigilant commanders would help reduce the possibility of future trouble. "No one disturbed them for the sake of investigation?"

"Thankfully no; they needed the time to recuperate. However some of the other physicians wouldn't have minded letting in the inspectors," Combeferre said ruefully. "A case of disordered priorities there; the investigation regarding the émigré involvement is going well enough even without unnecessarily disturbing those who were merely small pawns in a huge plan."

As they walked up the Rue Petit-Picpus, they caught sight of Courfeyrac leaving the Andreas residence. "What are you doing here?" Combeferre asked.

"I came to give some help from an apothecary, but now I must fetch a priest," Courfeyrac replied grimly.

Combeferre's eyes widened with dismay. "Is he in such a bad way already?" he asked in dismay and disbelief. "It's too fast even for this."

"I wish I could say you were right, but I don't think he has long left," Courfeyrac said before hurrying off down the street.

Combeferre swore under his breath and wiped his face. "This shouldn't be happening; he was fine yesterday," he said as he and Enjolras continued on to the house. Although Courfeyrac had left the door unlocked and there was still a candle burning in the living room, it almost seemed to Enjolras as if the house was wrapped in a gloom so stifling as to banish all signs of life. It was only when he and Combeferre were on the second floor that he finally heard some low whispers coming from a room towards the end of a short corridor.

When he followed his friend into the sickroom, he had to swallow hard. Valentin Andreas was almost unrecognizable as he lay very still and pale, with the blankets drawn up almost to under his chin. His eyes were half-open and his limbs were stretched out in a posture that was akin to an ominous sort of rictus. The only remaining sign of life was the feeble rise and fall of his chest.

Claudine was sitting at her father's bedside, chafing his wrist as if she was trying to feel for his pulse. Her eyes were clear but wild with the beginnings of grief when she looked at Combeferre and Enjolras. "I thought he would wake but he's been slipping away faster over this past hour."

Combeferre merely acknowledged this with a nod before going to the dying man's bedside. He stopped for a moment to clasp Claudine's free hand before helping her adjust the pillows in an attempt to make Valentin more comfortable. "What happened?"

"He complained of a headache during breakfast before he suddenly collapsed. At that moment he still at least was cognizant of his surroundings," Claudine explained. "It's a good thing Navet was looking for something right by the convent; I asked him to get you. He's why Courfeyrac is here too with some things from an apothecary; Navet somehow met him, Paulette, Joly, and Musichetta all at breakfast.

Enjolras looked to where Eponine was pacing the room, biting her lip uneasily. "I said my goodbyes already. You should too," she said to him when he caught her eye.

' _Can he even hear it?'_ Enjolras wondered as he went to the bedside. He had heard tales that the last sense to depart was that of hearing, but of course he never met anyone who could ascertain this fact through real life experience. He gingerly clasped Valentin's frail shoulder; it was all he could do not to flinch on feeling the chill in the man's mottled skin. He had to take a deep breath before speaking. "Thank you for everything, my friend. You should rest easy now," he said in a low voice. It might have been a trick of the eye but it seemed to him that Valentin stirred, almost as if in protest.

"Father, he is right. So are Francois and Eponine. I'll be fine. You do not have to worry," Claudine said, just managing to keep a tremor out of her voice. "I'll be able to go on, I'm sure of it."

On hearing this, Combeferre looked down before murmuring an apology and then getting out of his seat. Enjolras raised an eyebrow at this before following him out of the room. He saw Combeferre rest his head against a door, biting his lip as if he was trying desperately not to verbalize some unspoken regret or grief. Enjolras shook his head and waited for Combeferre to regain his composure before giving him a pointed look.

Combeferre wiped his eyeglasses several times before managing to speak. "I failed him and her," he said at last. "No, not as a physician, but I should have done what was right by Claudine earlier. Now I will have to wait for a year or so for propriety's sake, and that is hardly fair to her."

"What do you mean?"

"I had planned to ask her to marry me, last year. But Lamarque's funeral happened, and of course I was in no position to make such a proposal in the months after. I knew that Valentin was very ill; I saw the first signs of it. He had hoped that I would protect Claudine and offer her safety and security and whatever else I could give."

"Did he ever have doubts about it?"

"Quite the opposite. He had hoped to actually see it."

"He would have preferred to see the two of you go about it at a better time instead of being ill-prepared for it," Enjolras pointed out. ' _If Combeferre had been able to get that post of a lecturer, this would have been resolved differently,'_ he thought, feeling a rash of irritation towards Bayard's condescending behaviour early in the day.

"That might be the case, but there was still that disappointment," Combeferre said ruefully. He straightened up and glanced back at the door. "Maybe it may not be too late to make amends..." he murmured before quickly returning to the room.

When Enjolras followed his friend, he saw that Combeferre pulled up a chair beside Claudine's. Combeferre had taken Claudine's hand, but he seemed to be whispering something to Valentin, but it was impossible to tell whether it was an apology or a promise. Regardless of what it was, it seemed to be what Valentin needed to hear, as his grimace suddenly appeared less strained and almost peaceful.

Knowing better than to intrude on this scene, Enjolras went to where Eponine was standing by the window, looking out on the street. She sighed grimly as the bell at the nearby convent tolled the noon hour. "We tried giving him some of the things that Courfeyrac had brought but they wouldn't take. Do you s'pose he was just waiting?" she asked Enjolras.

"Waiting to hear something?" Enjolras clarified.

"Maybe just for him," Eponine said, gesturing to Combeferre. "At least there's time for a goodbye, and there's someone to hear it."

Enjolras clasped Eponine's arm just moments before they heard something like a long sigh coming from Valentin's bed. The elderly man let out another breath before seeming to sag back against the pillows. Combeferre felt for Valentin's pulse and then watched for a few moments before gently drawing the man's eyelids shut. Claudine nodded slowly before burying her face in the sheet to muffle her sobs even as Combeferre held on to her. Enjolras felt Eponine's hand close around his tightly; when he looked at her she was clearly fighting back tears.

At that moment the bedroom door swung open to reveal Courfeyrac, looking out of breath. With him was a young priest who seemed to have thrown on his coat over his cassock and stole. The curate sighed and crossed himself. "A few minutes too late," he murmured before going over to the deathbed. Claudine looked up and gave him a slight nod before stepped aside to let the priest begin to say prayers over Valentin's body.

Courfeyrac's face was stricken as he went to Combeferre and clasped his arm. "You were more than a son to him; you were a friend," he said in an undertone. He nodded to Claudine and when she went to him, he kissed her hand. "My condolences, Claudine."

Claudine nodded as she wiped her eyes on her sleeve. "Thank you. All of you. You've done more than you should have today; you need not stay to help make arrangements."

"We will though," Eponine said, letting out a slightly unladylike sniff. "It's the least we could do, and I don't think you could tell us to leave."

"I'd have an easier time damming up the Mediterranean," Combeferre said dryly. It was quickly decided that Combeferre and Claudine would handle the arrangements for the burial, as per some instructions that Valentin had left behind. Eponine volunteered to take charge of cleaning up the house, while Enjolras and Courfeyrac would notify Valentin's friends and neighbours about what happened.

Courfeyrac only dared to speak again once he and Enjolras were out of the house. "I know this is an inopportune time to be asking this, but I could not help but think of it anyway," he said with uncharacteristic seriousness. "If it turns out that Paulette and I will have a son, we would like you to be his godfather."

Enjolras paused, taken aback by his friend's words. "I am honoured, yet I must say this is surprising."

"I guess you must be wondering why I didn't ask Combeferre, Pontmercy, or even some of the others," Courfeyrac said. "It's because of how you look out for Gavroche, Neville, and Jacques. It's not only for Eponine's sake."

"That is true," Enjolras said. "If you should have a daughter though?"

"Musichetta will be the godmother. She would be offended if otherwise," Courfeyrac replied wryly.

Enjolras smirked, knowing their friend's wrath all too well. They parted ways near the gate of the convent; Enjolras made the rounds of his contacts and Valentin's friends in the nearby neighbourhood, while Courfeyrac headed to meet up with some friends in the market district, where Valentin had done business till last year. It took Enjolras the better part of the next two hours to finish his trip; by the time he returned, he surmised it was almost two o'clock. By this time the house was cleaned up, ready to receive any mourners. Black drapes now graced the windows, and the lights in the living room had been put out.

Eponine was sitting on the stoop, trying to make a sort of cockade out of black crepe. "Claudine and Combeferre have gone on to the church with the body," she informed Enjolras. "I s'pose we should follow there, once we get word."

"What is that for?" Enjolras asked, gesturing to the cockade.

"To put on the door. Claudine wants it," Eponine said. "Is this how a wake ought to be? Black everywhere, no songs about even if it's almost Easter..."

"Customarily, and even then, only in some quarters," Enjolras replied. He remembered little of mourning for any relatives back in Aix, but even so he was sure that his kindred were not particularly fond of ostentatious mourning. ' _Which even then is more than some people can ever afford,'_ he thought.

Eponine stuck a needle in the half-finished cockade. "I've never been to a proper funeral. I don't even have a black dress for it, though Claudine told me I don't have to wear one tomorrow at the funeral." She sighed as she looked at her handiwork. "Antoine, where do they bury people who die in prison?" she asked at length.

"A common grave, sometimes out in the nearest cemeteries," he said, feeling the weight in this query.

"Oh. I s'pose I would have liked to know where my mother was," she whispered. "I know it doesn't matter to her, but it matters to me."

' _It's always for those left behind,'_ Enjolras thought as he clasped her hands. He felt her squeeze his fingers tightly, as if seeking some form of reassurance. For a long time neither of them said anything, not even when the convent bells tolled the hour.


	72. Chapter 72: Generations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This chapter went in quite a different direction from what I originally intended. Trigger warning for childbirth and lethal complications.

**Chapter 72: Generations**

_The last thing Eponine expected was to be standing again in the second floor of the Gorbeau tenement. The cold and the reek of the place were unmistakeable, even after more than a year of staying away. In fact the place seemed to have gotten worse; the shadows hung longer, cobwebs fluttered like tattered veils in corners, and it almost seemed as if the mildew would leap out from the walls._

_As she carefully ducked to avoid banging her head on a narrow part of the garret, she heard the telltale screech of a rusty door hinge. "Who's there?" she called as she tiptoed over to the nearest room to investigate. The door was half-open and through the aperture she could see a flickering light, like that of a fire burning low in a hearth. She peered in and saw the shape of a big person sitting by a dirty fireplace, apparently stirring some food in an old pan._

" _Maman?" Eponine called, stepping into the room. Although this figure was silent, it was unmistakeably that of Mme. Thenardier. Her head was bare and her reddish hair was uncombed, but she was wearing a large tartan shawl over her clothes, the very same outfit she had worn at the ambuscade. Her face was gray and still more of her teeth were missing. Her eyes were haggard and seemed to see nothing else but the three potatoes now beginning to char in the pan._

_Eponine stepped closer to her mother. "Maman, it's me, Eponine! Won't you say a thing to me?" she asked, daring to touch Mme. Thenardier's shoulder. The woman did not stir despite Eponine's repeated cajoling; in fact it seemed as if her very flesh was unyielding under Eponine's hand. Now impatient, Eponine shook Mme. Thenardier slightly. "Maman, don't you see me?" she asked._

_Mme. Thenardier raised her chin slightly but her eyes were still unseeing. "You're not her."_

" _Of course I am! I'm Eponine, your eldest. Don't you know me, it's still my face-"the younger woman asked. She heard a fearful creaking overhead, as if the timbers of the old roof were about to give way. "Maman, this house is going to fall, we have to go!" she shouted, seizing Mme. Thenardier's arm._

_The formidable woman shook her off. "I'm waiting here for your father. Where is he?"_

" _He is-"Eponine began before the creaking grew into a roar as wooden beams and shingles began crashing all around her. She heard a strangled cry from nearby and tried to reach for it, but before she could take hold of anything, the floor began to sway, forcing her backwards. Planks were now giving way almost under Eponine's feet, forcing her to flee the room, back out to the narrow corridor and down the stairs towards the street._

_She looked back fearfully, expecting to see the ruin of the house, but found the yard absolutely empty of anything save tall grass; not even a fence stood there by the street; it was as if the place had never been built on. "Where did it all go?" Eponine asked aloud as she began to run, searching for any remnant of the house, or whoever had been in it. As she ran, the street began to grow more crowded; more buildings came into sight and she could hear the familiar rattle of carriages and the hubbub of conversation. As she rounded a bend in the road, she found herself standing in what appeared to be the promenade at the Luxembourg, right by the statue of a gladiator. The sun was out and a fresh breeze was in the air, bringing the sweet odors of roses and freshly baked bread._

_Suddenly she heard a merry laugh in the air and felt a small body slam into her, nearly knocking her to the ground. "Maman!" a clear voice greeted._

_Eponine took a step back to see who was suddenly hugging her; she found herself looking right at a little girl who appeared to be about five or six years old at most. This child was clean and fresh, but clearly very impish; the hem of her maroon dress was caked with mud, and there was a rip in the jaunty black hat that covered her golden hair. Her dark brown eyes had a look of mischief that Eponine knew only too well. "Where did you come from?" Eponine asked._

_The little girl grinned brightly at her. "Just there."_

" _Where again?" Eponine pressed on, but suddenly the little girl ran off, chasing after her hat which was being carried along by the wind. Before she could hurry after the child, she heard a footstep behind her and a voice calling her name-_

"Ponine, stop kicking around!"

This indignant shout, followed by a hard jab to her ribs was enough to bring Eponine back to the waking world. She sat up and scowled at Jacques, who was also giving her an indignant look. "You're not much better yourself on some nights," she muttered, rubbing her side.

"But you woke me up!" Jacques whined.

Eponine rolled her eyes as she got out of bed; she guessed that it was already dawn and about time to get started with the morning routine. She glanced towards where Gavroche and Neville were still dozing in the other bed, and sighed on seeing how her brothers were curled up to make the best of the limited space; the fact that their cat had gotten underneath the blankets again did not help matters very much. She looked over her shoulder and saw Jacques already falling asleep again, clutching the pillow close to him. ' _These beds are getting too small for all of us,'_ she thought ruefully as she quickly got dressed.

When she got downstairs, she found Claudine sitting at the kitchen table, looking pale and wan in the dim light of a half-burned away candle. For the past three or so weeks, Claudine had been spending more and more time at the Rue Jean Jacques Rousseau; staying at Picpus was unbearable now in her father's absence. ' _But she's not feeling much better here either,'_ Eponine realized as she sat across from her friend. "Do you want some coffee already?" she asked concernedly.

Claudine looked up tiredly and rubbed her eyes. "It's still early. Maybe in a little while."

Eponine shook her head as she got up to fetch the kettle, as well as some coffee, eggs, cheese, and a little bit of ham from the larder. She bit her lip when she heard Claudine let out a long, defeated sigh. "Did you sleep well?" she asked.

"Not very."

"What about Combeferre?"

Claudine buried her face in her hands. "I don't know. He's there with me, but I don't  _feel_  it. I know he feels guilty even if I tell him over and over again that he did all he could for my father. I am sure he's hardly listening."

' _And I thought it was impossible for anyone to get more stubborn than me or Antoine,'_ Eponine mused silently as she began cracking one of the eggs for an omelette, something which she knew that Claudine liked. There was a little time for this luxury since it was a Sunday. She heard Claudine get up from her seat to answer a knock at the front door, only to return later with a letter. "Who's that for?" she asked.

"It's yours. What are you writing to Citizen Tholomyes for?" Claudine asked, handing the note over.

"Some inquiries for friends who might want something in Toulouse," Eponine replied as she quickly pocketed the letter, knowing better than to read it openly, or at least in front of her siblings or her friends. ' _I s'pose I'll have to visit Citizen Valjean tomorrow about this,'_ she decided; she knew that the Pontmercys were entertaining some of Gillenormand's friends that day, and it was hardly a time now to be discussing what to do about three criminals.

She smiled to herself when a few minutes later, she heard the sound of a door opening and shutting upstairs, followed by an all-too familiar tread on the stairs. "You're late," she called teasingly, looking away from her cooking for a moment.

"Excuse me? You are simply awake too early," Enjolras retorted nonchalantly as he walked into the kitchen, all the while rolling up his shirtsleeves to past his elbows. "Good morning," he added, addressing Eponine as well as Claudine.

' _How does he always end up looking that way even if he doesn't sleep all that much either?'_ Eponine wondered, feeling heat pooling within her stomach and also rising up to her face even as she sneaked a glance at Enjolras, who merely smirked at her before he went to get started with making the coffee. She noticed Claudine suppressing a mirthful grin at having witnessed this brief yet rather intimate interlude; fortunately Claudine was a tactful, discreet woman and would not go about telling this to the rest of their friends.

Claudine shook her head as she heard the sound of bells chiming the hour as six in the morning. "At the rate this is going, Francois will have a late breakfast," she grumbled.

"He's still asleep? He came in late last night  _again?"_ Enjolras asked, raising an eyebrow.

"He was in before eleven, but what do you mean by again?"

"He nearly collapsed in the doorway last Thursday morning after his night shift," Enjolras replied.

Eponine rolled her eyes at the memory; she'd been the one who nearly tripped over Combeferre on her way out to get breakfast. She put some slivers of cheese and ham on the omelette before speaking again. "He was so tired that we had to drag him up to his room..." she began, but she fell silent on seeing the increasingly upset look on Claudine's face. "I s'pose that was not a good thing to talk about."

"No, you two are in the right to mention it. I'm going up to talk to him right  _now_ , sleep or breakfast aside. This has gone on far too long," Claudine muttered as she pushed back her seat and got up from the table. "Don't bother knocking to call us downstairs, this might take a while," she added over her shoulder before she exited the kitchen.

Eponine couldn't help snorting as she momentarily met Enjolras' knowing yet slightly embarrassed look. It was difficult to look at him, more so when she still could not push her odd dream out of her mind. "I s'pose it's better than having them be all quiet, sad and not talking much to anyone, like they've been for all this time," she remarked, only to end up laughing outright at his increasingly discomfited expression. "Never mind that, Antoine. What are you doing today?"

"A meeting with Jeanne and some other deputies," Enjolras replied more easily. "And you?"

"I'll be with Azelma; I promised to go with her to Les Halles today. It's been a long time since I've gotten to do that with her," she said as she took the omelette off the stove and slid it onto a plate. She took a deep breath and smiled at the aroma of coffee now beginning to fill the air. "What are you meeting about? Your petition was already signed into law by Lafayette last Friday."

"My work yes, but there are other petitions to be voted on within the week. The legislature will be in assembly from Wednesday till Friday," Enjolras said.

' _Other petitions, but not the one I've been working on,'_ Eponine thought bitterly as she cut the omelette into half and took a piece out of one end. Every attempt over the past few weeks to revise the women's petition or to speak directly with the committee members hearing the matter only resulted in one impasse after another. In fact a wag had gone so far as to write that all the authoresses of the petition would be long gone before it would even reach a vote. ' _Surely things cannot move so slowly!"_ Eponine told herself as she swallowed her food.

Enjolras regarded her pensively for a moment before setting down two cups of coffee on the table. "It might be worthwhile to bring the matter of your petition up to the presses once more, in order to explain the issue even to deputies outside Paris. Their opinion will matter  _when_ your work goes up for a vote," he said as he reached for his half of the omelette.

"I'm meeting with Leonor tomorrow to do just that; there's a piece we are sending down to the  _Moniteur_ , and also Coutard promised to get it to paper that run only in the Midi. Grantaire wanted to help too, but something at work is tying up his hands so he can't do as much as he wishes," Eponine replied before she took a sip of coffee, not hiding her bemusement as his having brought up this alternative course of action.

"You could even meet with foreign correspondents; their opinions are also worthy of consideration, at least in the roundabout way," Enjolras suggested.

"Yes, and they will make it sound so terrible in English and German; I see the translations sometimes and they are not as nice sounding as the originals in French," Eponine said, making a face.

"Do you always read those aloud?"

"It's one way to see if they can be explained. You should hear Emile reading in English; he sounds absolutely horrible, like his tongue has gone rock hard. There was a gentleman from Prussia who said that his German was an abomination, but that's only when speaking it, thankfully!"

"I am sorry you have to be subjected to that," Enjolras said dryly.

"Thankfully it's not an everyday matter, only when we're working with someone who is so particular," Eponine shot back mirthfully before getting some more of the omelette. "If you're still in Les Halles in the afternoon, maybe I'll find you there?" she added more hopefully.

He touched her palm lightly. "Three in the afternoon, at the Place du Chatele,"

"That will do," Eponine said with a smile as she clasped his hand back, certain that they would both do their best to keep this rendezvous. This, as well as the good weather, was enough to buoy her spirits significantly even an hour later as she made her way to meet Azelma in the area of the Odeon.

When she got to the square outside the theater, she found Azelma with Prouvaire and some of their neighbours, avidly watching two outrageously dressed friends stage a poetic debate in the open air. Azelma was dressed far less ostentatiously than she'd been wont to do several weeks ago; she'd left a number of her fine things with the Lafontaines.

"What on earth are they talking about? I don't understand half of it," Eponine asked in an undertone when she went to sit by her sister.

"It's all in Latin. One man there is playing at being Cicero, the other is supposedly Tacitus, and I don't see why that should make much sense," Azelma said. She covered her ears as one of the actors launched into a monologue with a voice that was halfway between a harangue and a screech. "Wait a moment, I'll simply tell Jehan we'll be off," she added before going to where the poet was seated. She tapped Prouvaire's shoulder lightly. "Eponine is here. We'll be going to Les Halles."

"Already? Don't you want to finish this?" Prouvaire asked a little disappointedly.

Azelma frowned as she squeezed his arm. "I need another lesson in Latin before I can understand this. I like hearing it from you."

Prouvaire smiled before kissing her cheek. "We'll start this afternoon if you like, when you get back," he said. He waved to Eponine. "Take care and have fun!" he called to her.

"We will," Eponine replied with a smile. Somehow, she couldn't help but feel a little awkward and maybe a little incensed at seeing Azelma and Prouvaire display their affections so openly. ' _But then again they don't have to worry about comments the way you do,'_ she reminded herself as she and Azelma went to find an omnibus.

As soon as they'd found their seats, Azelma squeezed Eponine's arm. "You know what Jehan wants to do?" she asked in an excited whisper.

"What, stage a new play?" Eponine asked.

"No! He wants us to marry!" Azelma replied, nearly flushed and giddy with exhilaration. "Not right away of course; he knows I'm too young and I'll still have to ask Papa's permission when the time comes for it. It's going to be one of those long engagements, that is, if you're fine with him being a brother to you and the boys? I've got to ask you since you're the only one among us five who is old enough to have a say in some things."

Eponine's jaw dropped with bewilderment at what she was hearing. While initially she wanted to protest at the abruptness of this matter, there was also a part of her mind that was convinced that this was a sensible, if not the best, course of action for her sister's personal life. "I s'pose he already is. That's part of why I had to help him and you out," she finally said.

"So it's fine with you?"

"It is. He's awfully good to you; I haven't seen you this happy in a very long time, Zelma."

Azelma smiled widely as she clutched Eponine's arm again. "Thank you for saying I could. I was worried if you would, for a while there."

"Why?"

"I never exactly said sorry for the trouble that I caused with that necklace, with the Lafontaines, and everything all around it. It was so terrible of me, and I'm just lucky that you, Jehan, Enjolras, Cosette, and everyone else are nice, or better than nice about it," Azelma admitted, looking down and clutching at her skirt.

"You already told me about it, the day you were able to see me at the Rue des Macons," Eponine pointed out.

"That was explaining, not a proper apology. I would have done it sooner if I'd been able to get away."

"What took you so long to go about it? Enjolras told me you had trouble going about it."

"I wasn't sure if I had anywhere else to go; I knew the Lafontaines didn't exactly like me, but it was fine staying with them. I did miss everyone though. You too."

Eponine nodded, seeing now that she probably would not have acted much better in such a bind. "What made you decide to get away then?"

"Mostly because I was being pushed here and there, as if I was always meant to be in the corner. You know, Cerise has a younger sister too. Justine. I'm not sure you remember her much. But she ignores her the way we used to ignore Cosette," Azelma explained. "That's not something that you or Jehan would do to me. Not even Leonor would be that nasty to me, even if we don't get on well."

"It's sometimes difficult to get along with Leonor even on the  _best_  of days," Eponine remarked.

Azelma burst out giggling. "Did Enjolras also tell you that I said outright that he was going to become my older brother?"

"He did," Eponine replied, blushing a little at the story, and more so at the fact that Enjolras had not seemed overly fazed or even surprised by the matter. ' _That, and also the way he seemed to be daydreaming too at Joly and Musichetta's wedding...'_ she thought, feeling a frisson of delight run up her spine at the memory.

It was just as well that Eponine had agreed to spend part of the day with Azelma; although much of their time was spent visiting some dressmakers and milliners, they were able to find a lady who was willing to sell an extra mattress to Eponine, at a lower price than she'd expected. ' _It's at least a start,'_ Eponine decided even as she agreed to pick up the pallet after working hours the next day.

Azelma could not help but voice out her astonishment at this purchase. "Are the boys really growing up so fast?" she asked as she and Eponine prepared to part ways near the Place du Chatele.

"Yes. Neville lost a tooth for the first time last week; when I got home from an errand, he was trying to pull it out. The trouble was that he'd tied his tooth to one side of the doorknob, and tied the other side of the doorknob to the  _cat._ I s'pose he thought the door would slam harder that way and bring the tooth out," Eponine said.

Azelma nearly doubled over laughing. "That's even worse than Bossuet almost toppling out the windows during your birthday! How did the boys' mischief end?"

"Only when we found a very hard crust of bread for him to bite and that was how it finally came out. It was a lot less troublesome that way," Eponine said.

"Just because they're getting taller, that doesn't mean they're getting much brighter."

"I'm not so sure about that, Zelma. Gavroche always knows his way about better than we do."

Azelma shrugged. "He knows enough to run circles around us. I should get going then; I did promise Jehan we'd work on Latin. I'll try to see you before next Sunday then-you don't get in trouble between today and that day!" she said.

"I should have no problem with that; you watch yourself too," Eponine replied before they parted ways; Azelma took a fiacre back to the Latin Quartier, while Eponine crossed to the Place du Chatele.

At the entrance to the square, her alert gaze trained on a surprising sight: Musichetta was to one side of the square, arguing heatedly with a fiacre driver. The older woman nearly started when she saw Eponine. "I need your help! Paulette's child is coming today," she said breathlessly.

A chill seized Eponine at these words; that was not supposed to happen till the first day of May at the earliest. "Where is she now?" she asked.

"Rue de la Verrerie. I asked Mother Veuvain, the concierge, to watch her while I get Joly, but someone has to find Courfeyrac. He stepped out for an errand," Musichetta replied.

Eponine swallowed hard, already knowing and regretting what she would have to do. "I can run to the Rue de la Verrerie right now. If you go into the Place du Chatele, you'll find Enjolras there; I was supposed to meet him in a minute or two, but I s'pose now he can go and fetch Courfeyrac," she said.

Musichetta nodded with relief. "There, it will only be one trip, not two," she told the fiacre driver she'd been arguing with. She clasped Eponine's wrist gratefully. "I don't know how to thank you, Eponine."

"No, we'd best wait for Paulette to thank both of us. I'll see you soon!" Eponine said before racing off in the direction of Courfeyrac and Paulette's lodgings. When she got to 16 Rue de la Verrerie, she found the front door left open, and lost no time in running up the stairs, only to be greeted by the rather overwhelmed concierge.

"Didn't you bring a doctor with you, or at least Citizen de Courfeyrac?" Mother Veuvain screeched at her.

"I've only come to stay with Paulette; Musichetta has gone to get the doctor, and Courfeyrac should be here in a little while," Eponine replied.

The concierge cringed. "Well they'd better be quick about it; this little one is in a hurry," she said before showing Eponine into her friends' apartment.

Paulette was lying in bed, her suddenly pallid face covered with sweat and her hair dragging about her cheeks. She seemed short of breath even as she tried to sit up to look at Eponine. "Oh thank you for coming! Who told you about this?" she asked.

"I ran into Chetta some minutes ago; she's just going to find Joly. I think Courfeyrac will be here soon, or at least when Enjolras can find him. Where did he go to anyway?" Eponine asked, bringing out a handkerchief to wipe her friend's face.

"Down to Saint-Merry. That shouldn't be far from here—oh God!" Paulette whimpered as she grabbed at the bedpost. Her eyes were almost watering with pain as she bit her lip to keep from crying out. "It shouldn't be this quick. Everyone says it takes hours for a first child, but I think this one is coming too soon. It's already too early to begin with."

"Paulette, this is Courfeyrac's child. Did you ever expect him or her to be patient?" Eponine asked.

Paulette laughed weakly as she shifted in an attempt to get more comfortable. "I'm never letting Maurice near me again; if I'd known this was going to hurt so much, I might have thought twice before letting him touch me!" She sat up again when she heard a distinctly male voice in the hallway. "Did you hear that, Maurice? This is the first and last time-"

"You were saying, Paulette?" Joly asked wryly as he and Musichetta stepped into the room. "I could get Courfeyrac upstairs but only as far as the door to hear you, if you like. I told Enjolras to make sure that he stays downstairs."

Paulette reddened at this joke but she managed to laugh again. "Best that Maurice doesn't step in here anyway; I doubt he'd like to see this-"she said before another contraction seized her body, making her double over as she whimpered.

Joly set down his bag and took off his coat. "Eponine, could you go down and boil some rags as well as these scissors I have here? Fetch some clean towels and sheets as well," he asked, bringing a large pair of scissors out of his bag.

"Boiling  _scissors_? What for?" Eponine asked.

"An observation I need to test," Joly said firmly. "Paulette, please relax. Chetta will help me take a look at how far you've progressed-"

Eponine took the opportunity to slip out of the room to begin preparing the items Joly had requested for. It proved to be a relatively easy task especially with Mother Veuvain's grudging assistance. All the while she could hear Paulette's pained cries despite all of Joly and Musichetta's attempts to reassure her. ' _How could Maman ever go through that five times?'_ she wondered as she began gathering up the supplies to bring them upstairs.

When she arrived back at the apartment, Paulette had already given up all semblance of restraint, and was now openly crying. Musichetta was wiping down her friend's brow, all the while murmuring soothing words. Joly was glancing at his pocket watch with a rather worried expression. "It is indeed progressing quickly," Joly reported when he saw Eponine.

"Not quickly enough! Can't this be over with?" Paulette wailed.

"It's not that simple-ouch, Paulette, you're digging your nails into my hand!" Musichetta hissed.

Paulette gave her a look of anguish before putting a hand to her head. "I feel so dizzy."

"It's probably just the pain. Lie back and rest a bit," Joly advised.

The labouring woman shut her eyes as she rested her head wearily against the pillows, gasping when another pain wracked her. Joly shook his head at this. "Two minutes."

"Between pains? Does that matter?" Eponine asked.

"Definitely. It determines whether-"Joly began.

At that moment Paulette opened her eyes, and cocked her head as if listening for something outside the room. "That's Maurice outside."

The physician handed his pocket watch to Musichetta before he crossed the room in order to open the door a crack. "Courfeyrac, before you ask, you are  _not_  allowed in here," he said.

"She needs me. I promise I will not do anything to get in the way," Courfeyrac argued, slipping his fingers through the crack to try to push the door open.

Paulette rolled her eyes on hearing this. "Maurice, if you ever go near me again, I will make sure you get ten times of what I'm getting here, right now!" she screeched at him.

"I don't think causing further agitation is a good idea, Courfeyrac. Paulette is in good hands; Joly knows what he's doing," Enjolras said in a level tone from further away down the hall.

"Enjolras, I am sure you will be anything  _but_  calm when the shoe is on the other foot," Courfeyrac snapped. "That is a bet I am sure to win."

Both Musichetta and Joly burst out laughing while Paulette managed a giggle before crying out again in pain. Eponine could only bury her face in her hands as she heard Courfeyrac now arguing with Enjolras even after Joly slammed the door shut. Suddenly she heard a long wail coming from Paulette's bed. "What's happened?" she asked worriedly.

Joly ran over to examine his patient. "The baby is coming  _now_ ," he said grimly. "Paulette, I need you to bear down, but only when you feel the pain coming. Don't strain yourself in between."

Paulette nodded tearfully as she reached for Musichetta's hand, as well as Eponine's. "I don't think I can do it," she whimpered.

"You have to. There's no other way to go about it, and it will be over soon," Eponine said firmly. Still she could not help but feel pure terror on seeing how pallid Paulette was. ' _How long can she last?'_ she wondered, making sure that it was not her injured hand in Paulette's' grip. Before she could ascertain this, she felt Paulette's hand tighten around hers painfully, enough to make her wince.

Musichetta smiled sympathetically at Paulette when the latter relaxed her grip. "There, that wasn't so bad, wasn't it?"

"You don't know!" Paulette cried out exasperatedly when she caught her breath. "I know what I said earlier, but where's Maurice? Something is wrong-"

"You'll see him in a bit," Eponine said tersely as Paulette squeezed her hand again. "It might only be a few minutes," she added before Paulette let out an ear-splitting shriek.

Joly's expression was tense but hopeful. "The shoulders are almost out. It won't be long now."

Paulette nodded before bearing down again, this time no longer bothering to muffle her screams. She nearly collapsed against the pillows a moment before the high-pitched wail of a newborn pierced the late afternoon air.

Joly sighed with relief as he wrapped the shrieking baby in a clean cloth. "Paulette, you have a son. I've never seen a healthier baby before," he said more happily as Musichetta went to help him cut the cord.

Eponine shook her friend. "Paulette, did you hear that? It's a little boy!"

Paulette opened her eyes slowly. "We'll call him Armand," she murmured hoarsely. "Armand Courfeyrac has a nice ring to it."

"That it does," Musichetta said before going to open the door. "Enjolras, you can stop holding Courfeyrac down; he can come in now."

In a moment Courfeyrac bounded into the room and up to his mistress' bedside. "Paulette my dear, are you alright?" he asked as he gently helped her sit up.

The woman nodded wearily. "I feel a little faint though-"

"It was exhausting...no, wait, that is  _not_  supposed to happen!" Joly shouted, quickly handing the baby to Musichetta. Paulette had fallen back onto the bed and her eyes had rolled up into her head as she began to convulse.

"Patrice! What's happening to her?" Musichetta yelled, now thoroughly panicked.

"I don't know!" Joly whispered as he began looking through his bag for any medication, but finding nothing to stop this seizure.

"Paulette! Wake up, please wake up!" Courfeyrac pleaded. "Please, Paulette!"

Eponine shook her head even as she looked away, already seeing how Paulette's face was turning blue. She shut her eyes but was unable to completely banish the sight of her friend going rigid one last time before falling back limply on the bed and ceasing to breathe after a few more moments. She could hear Courfeyrac begging Paulette to open her eyes, even as Musichetta was now shaking with sobs. Joly had taken off his spectacles and was wringing his hands, unable to look at this scene.

Yet even over this commotion, and the hot tears now springing to her eyes, Eponine heard the baby's wailing once again. She gingerly tiptoed over to where Musichetta had set Armand down at his mother's bedside. "Should I?" she asked worriedly.

"He shouldn't be here at the moment; it might be a while till..." Joly said helplessly as he gestured to Courfeyrac, who was now openly weeping.

Eponine nodded as she picked up Armand and wrapped him tighter in his blanket before slipping out of the room. She closed the door behind her and leaned against the nearby wall, unsure if her own legs could hold her up. She tried rocking Armand to quiet him down, but the baby continued to whimper listlessly, his fists waving about indignantly. It was impossible for her to soothe him, not when her own tears were dotting the blanket.

She swallowed hard when she saw Enjolras now standing next to her. "Paulette is gone," she murmured.

Enjolras nodded and sighed deeply as he looked towards the room that Eponine had just left. "What happened?" he asked quietly after a moment.

"I don't know. I wish I hadn't seen it..." Eponine whispered, fighting back her sobs. She knew that this horrible day would probably comprise her nightmares for a long time to come. She sighed as she adjusted her hold on the newborn. Thankfully he was beginning to settle down and was now looking about rather aimlessly. "I s'pose you should meet your godson. His name is Armand," she finally said.

Enjolras peered at the child with a mix of wariness and curiosity, more so when Armand reflexively grabbed one of his fingers. "He's definitely his father's spitting image," he commented a little ruefully.

"How so?" a more broken voice asked from the doorway. Enjolras and Eponine looked to where Courfeyrac was standing a few paces away. His cheeks were wet with tears and his hair and his clothes were in disarray. "May I hold him?"

"Are you sure?" Eponine asked cautiously. "You don't have to right away."

"Paulette never got to," Courfeyrac said resolutely.

Eponine carefully handed over the baby, taking care to check her friend's hold on the child. "I think he has your eyes," she said.

Courfeyrac nodded as he looked at his son. "I guess you'll have to make do with me, Armand," he whispered protectively. He looked up as his concierge stepped into the hallway. "This is a terrible pass. I'm sorry but we're going to have to call the undertaker."

"That's easy enough, but that little one needs a wet nurse," Mother Veuvain advised. "There's one towards the end of the street; maybe she's home now."

"I'll go get her," Eponine volunteered. "Where is the address?"

"Just run down to the end of the street. It's the only house there," Mother Veuvain said.

"I won't be long then," Eponine said with a nod. All she wanted to do was get some fresh air, perhaps it would help stave away the hot feeling in her eyes. "You don't have to go with me. I s'pose you're needed here more," she said to Enjolras.

Enjolras took a deep breath as he surveyed the scene. "I see. Later then?"

"Later. I won't be long," she said, kissing his cheek. She ran out of the house, not even bothering to pick up her coat or her hat, knowing better than to think of these given the urgency of the matter.


	73. Chapter 73: Accord

**Chapter 73: Accord**

"I am sure that you have now arranged your schedule to allow yourself to be home each day at noon."

"It seems to be the only time when  _both_  Armand and I are awake, and I can give his wet nurse some time to rest."

As wry as Courfeyrac's words were, they were enough to have Claudine laughing out loud. "You'd better enjoy the quiet while it lasts, especially Armand takes after you in demeanor as much as he does in looks," Claudine said mirthfully.

Courfeyrac chuckled before looking down to meet his infant son's curious gaze. "Then it is good that he is not a  _de_  Courfeyrac," he said softly."He never will be even if I could tell my parents about him."

Enjolras clasped his friend's shoulder sympathetically. "There may come a time when they will rethink that opinion," he said. It had been two and a half weeks since Armand had entered the world while his mother had left it. To the casual observer it seemed as if Courfeyrac was bearing the situation well and was almost unchanged save for the fact that he was in mourning attire, but to his close friends it was clear that his speech was less ebullient and his look more grave than before. ' _But nonetheless still valiant,'_ Enjolras thought as he watched his friend talking to the child.

In the meantime Claudine was looking out the window, as if watching for someone on the street. "Combeferre should be here any minute."

"Is he bringing anyone with him?" Courfeyrac asked. It only stood to reason that Courfeyrac's apartment was now where their friends had been gathering for the past days, sometimes to lend a hand to the father, and other times to simply spend time with the son.

Claudine merely smiled. "Next month, when things are more settled, we will refine some of our work on acoustics," she said, shaking out some dust that had clung to the hem of her black dress. "It's something that I promised my father I'd finish." The regret and pain that had clung to her voice over the past few weeks had finally begun to diminish, only to be replaced by a more heartening sort of resolve. "Who knows, I might get to teach it someday," she added more hopefully.

"Perhaps you'll be Armand's teacher, if he is inclined to the scientific field," Courfeyrac said amiably. He bit back a swear word when he nearly tripped over his shoelaces. "Could you please hold him for a moment?" he asked Enjolras even as he carefully handed over the child.

Enjolras winced when Armand let out a brief yell of protest at being away from his parent. "Sorry there. I know I'm not your father or any one of your aunts," he said even as the baby began to calm down, only to snuggle into the crook of his arm. He couldn't help but smile as he looked at the infant; the resemblance between Armand and his friend was even more pronounced now than it had been at birth. The only trait he seemed to take from Paulette was a dimple in his left cheek. The rest of him, from his lustrous brown curls, his hazel eyes, and even the slight stubbiness of his nose, was all from his father. The likeness became downright ridiculous when Armand's face scrunched with a quizzical expression as he studied Enjolras.

"He's bright. He seems to know all our voices," Courfeyrac remarked, wiping his hands on his coat before going to retrieve his son.

"How would you know? He's not even a month old," Enjolras said.

"He does turn to look about when we're all here," Courfeyrac explained.

"You're falling into that trap every parent does," Claudine said with a laugh as she got up to answer a brisk knock on the door. She nodded to Combeferre and Joly. "Finally you're here."

Enjolras had to keep a straight face on overhearing this double-edged greeting; of all their friends, it was only Joly who had stayed away from visiting Courfeyrac, only allowing himself brief appearances during Paulette's wake and then Armand's christening.  _'Only Combeferre then could draw him out,'_ Enjolras thought, seeing how Combeferre practically had to push Joly into the apartment.

Joly set aside his cane nervously before looking at Courfeyrac. "Good afternoon. Are you and Armand well?" he asked, his tone just level.

"As well as the spring can make us. Please sit down; I know you've come from the Bourbe and that is a long way," Courfeyrac said amiably.

Joly glanced at the seat Courfeyrac offered. "I do not think I should."

"Would you refuse a friend's hospitality?" Claudine asked.

Joly swallowed hard before sinking down wearily into the chair. He cast a pained look at Courfeyrac and Armand. "This isn't fair to either of you."

Combeferre gave his friend a despairing glance. "Joly, please. I've told you it wasn't your fault; the sudden onset of a seizure is not something most physicians could predict."

"Can one simply say that about losing a friend in this way?" Joly asked, looking at Combeferre pointedly. He took a few shaky breaths before looking at Courfeyrac. "I'm sorry that I could not save Paulette. I'm sorry that I've put you in the position of having to take sole responsibility for your child. I'm sorry for causing such pain."

"Joly, it wasn't you who did it," Courfeyrac said. "I was there. I saw you and Musichetta tried to save Paulette while I could only..." he trailed off before shaking his head. "I refuse to blame you for this."

"You should. I failed in my duty as a physician."

Enjolras moved towards the door in order to stop Joly from quitting the apartment. "Perhaps it is not for Courfeyrac or most persons to judge you with regard to your profession. However as a friend you went far and above beyond what was asked of you," he said firmly as he clasped Joly's arm. "This is not the time to turn away."

Joly looked at his friends, clearly struggling to believe the truth in their words. "May I see him then?" he asked, looking at Courfeyrac.

"He's been waiting to see  _you,_  he's been looking at you the entire time you've been talking," Courfeyrac said as he handed Armand to Joly. "I told you he was bright," he said to the rest of the group.

In the meantime Claudine glanced at Combeferre. "Have you told them yet?"

"Told us about what?" Joly asked, looking up from his attempts to check if Armand was cross-eyed.

Combeferre smiled proudly. "Tomorrow I'm going to meet with a panel at the Sorbonne; I'm being considered as a lecturer there."

"That is good news. However that will mean you will no longer take the day shift at the Necker?" Enjolras asked.

"Nor the night shift," Combeferre said.

"You're giving up Medicine?" Joly asked incredulously.

"Not entirely; I can still take on a private practice of sorts," Combeferre said. "I believe though that in the long run I will be doing more work in a teaching capacity. It is something I have been anxious to do for a few years now."

"If Grantaire were here, he would say you are transforming from Asclepius to Mentor," Courfeyrac said. "It suits you."

"I hope you're right."

"You have the gift of explanation, and more apparently, the patience for it," Enjolras said encouragingly, even as he heard the bells of Saint-Merry tolling the hour; it was now one o'clock. "Unfortunately I cannot pass another hour here; I am expected back at the Hotel de Ville," he said as he went to get his hat and his coat.

"So should I," Claudine said. "I have to prepare for the meeting later."

"What meeting?" Combeferre asked.

"With the  _Societe_  of course, at the Rue des Boulangers. I told you about it this morning. It's starting a little later than usual since all of us have much to finish at work and no one has a half holiday," Claudine said, swatting Combeferre's shoulder lightly. "There's been a lot of fuss, especially about whether we are to participate or not in the festivities on June 5. It's the last thing we need to be talking about now, since some of the other members have come up with projects that they want to discuss tonight."

Courfeyrac laughed out loud. "Is it true there is to be a whole day fete?" he asked Enjolras.

"That question is causing more debate than it should," Enjolras replied.

"It is impossible to keep from celebrating," Combeferre pointed out.

"That is true, but I do not see what end can be achieved with extravagant pageantry or theatrics. A simple commemoration would suffice, leaving people free to still conduct their business if they wish, instead of hindering all movement in Paris for the sake of festivities in one part of the city," Enjolras said. ' _A parade and a tableaux of Marianne are not befitting ways to celebrate something that is just as well a memorial,'_ he couldn't help thinking. Inasmuch as he was fond too of symbolism, he could see no utility in such an expensive gesture, and he was also keenly aware of the insult this would be to those who lost loved ones during the bloodier days of the revolution.

"Practical as always," Combeferre said approvingly. "Though I doubt the idea will be well received."

Enjolras merely smiled grimly; he had his own debates to wage regarding this frivolous but unavoidable matter. ' _I never thought that these things would actually become a memory,'_ he caught himself musing. It was an astounding realization; a year ago he had merely been planning and hoping for an upheaval. The world had done that, and in addition to this, it had turned on its side in such a startling fashion, in the way that only orderly chaos could.

He turned his attention back to where his friends were now discussing theories about the upcoming festivities; even Joly was throwing in his own wild suggestions. "Shall I bring those for consideration to my colleagues?" he asked dryly.

"If you must pick one, make it the re-enactment of the classical. Togas would be more hygienic for summer," Courfeyrac replied gleefully.

Enjolras rolled his eyes at the ludicrousness of this suggestion, even as the rest of his friends burst out laughing. After a few minutes he took his leave of the group and made his way back to the Hotel de Ville. Even before he could get to the corridor leading to the legislators' office, he could already hear chatter punctuated by guffaws, heralding the presence of a gang of journalists waiting for some official to bother. The young man gritted his teeth, already determined to make the discussion short, more so when he saw Grantaire walk up with a determined, even slightly offended expression on his face.

"There is no calling off the buzzards," Grantaire said when he saw Enjolras. "They're out waiting for Jeanne today; they seem determined to catch him during the brief hour he comes here."

"They will grow tired while waiting. He's not coming till the end of the day, if ever," Enjolras informed his friend. "What else are they here for?"

"Talking about the fete," Grantaire said. "In all the wrong aspects of course, such as the possibility of one of the members of the women's club representing Liberty at the parade."

Before Enjolras could comment on this, the rest of Grantaire's colleagues had already caught on to his presence and were now besieging him with questions. "Citizen! Is it true that you had a personal hand with the transferring of the garrison from the Rue de Babylone?" one journalist from a smaller gazette yelled over the din caused by his colleagues.

Enjolras shook his head, remembering only now that it was this week that the last of the military reassignments had been put into effect, thus breaking up the mutinous garrison. "No. The matter was arranged entirely within the armed forces, as a response to the incidents on the first of April."

"On the contrary, it is said that you arranged it owing to a falling out you had with one of the officers, over a personal matter?" another journalist shouted.

Enjolras' brow furrowed at this ludicrous notion, more so when he saw Grantaire cuffing the journalist who'd asked this impertinent question. "That is baseless. I suggest you speak to the commanders directly if you wish for clarification or more details," he said sternly before making his way through the throng so he could proceed to his office. He could hear Grantaire walking a few paces behind him but he had to wait till he was out of earshot before he could address his friend. "What exactly was that about?" he asked.

"Only an attempt to sow intrigue," Grantaire said with a shrug. "It could be worse; you could have been accused of trying to abolish religion in the face of putting up another age of Reason. You could have been accused of being Robespierre, with the rest of us filling in the parts of the Jacobin party and with Eponine being Citizenness Eleonore Duplay."

"Those last accusations had better be in jest," Enjolras said, not hiding the offence in his tone.

"I am not responsible for what ensues when my colleagues choose to worship Bacchus in the Cafe du Foy," Grantaire replied. He checked his pocket watch and shook his head. "I must go. My Grace will summon me, and I would rather not have her take on the attributes of Eris. She wants to meet me before she drops by the women's meeting at the Latin Quartier tonight."

"Well I shall not delay you. My regards to Citizenness Montrose," Enjolras said politely before going to his office, already determined to make himself scarce for as long as the impetuous journalists were still on the premises of the Hotel de Ville. He shut the door quite audibly but did not lock it; he was not averse to more productive appointments. This had the desired effect; he found himself relatively undisturbed as he spent the next few hours answering correspondence and reading through documents for the next plenary assembly, the only interruptions being from Rossi and Mathieu when they dropped by separately to exchange papers or useful conjectures.

When he was done with his work, Enjolras found a fresh sheet of paper and wrote on top of it: ' _Notes on curriculums',_ before proceeding to list down the subjects being taught in various grammar schools, such as the one that the Thenardier brothers were attending, the schools where the children of various acquaintances were enrolled, and even the schools his relatives in Aix attended. ' _Inequalities even here,'_ he thought as he began jotting down some of his observations with regard to each subject as it was taught in each school. He frowned as he surveyed the results of his setting his thoughts out on paper; there were now more questions than answers. ' _Something to discuss with Eponine and Combeferre soon,'_ he decided, hearing the church bells now toll the hour for vespers despite the fact that the sun was still brightly shining; summer was fast approaching. As soon as his notes were dry he straightened up his desk and then quitted the now silent Hotel de Ville.

He stopped by the Rue Jean Jacques Rousseau first in order to check up on the Thenardier brothers. After this, he made his way to the Jardin Royal des Plantes for an appointment with some of the leaders of union and guilds based in this district. By the time this meeting was over, the lamps all along the park and the streets were already being lit and the police were beginning to make their night rounds.

Somehow, he was not surprised at all to return home and find the ground floor of the tenement still lit; what piqued his curiosity were the smell of coffee and the sound of humming coming from the kitchen. He peered in and saw Eponine seated at the table, reading through a pamphlet and stopping at times to scribble in her notebook. Two cups of coffee were set up on the table.

She smiled as she looked up from her work and patted the empty seat next to hers. "I figured you would want to be busy too this evening," she said by way of greeting. "Anyway I'm not about to empty the kettle by myself and it's a shame to just pour the rest out."

"Point taken," Enjolras said. He smiled when he tasted the drink; it was one of the rare occasions when Eponine did not burn the coffee. "How did your meeting go?"

"Mine is a long story. I am sure yours went well?" she said, setting down her pencil and reaching over to slide her fingers over his.

"For the most part. There were a few points to argue with some of the guildsmen asking about how their unions would work with the current laws regarding employment, hence the meeting's late conclusion," he said.

"I s'pose you could say the same for mine too. Maybe a little worse," Eponine replied wryly. She sighed deeply before taking a sip of her coffee. "A lot of it was about the fete; not all of us want to join the parade, but some of us are insisting we should."

"Well, what do you think of it?" Enjolras asked curiously.

"It would be nice to join, but I don't want us ladies to get all silly about it," Eponine said with a frown. "The papers say that's  _all_ we ladies are concerned about. That is not true."

"Once the fifth of June is over, then there will be more inclination to focus on actual priorities as opposed to a mere representation of them," Enjolras pointed out.

Eponine grinned at his choice of words. "Maybe between now and that day there will be something different to talk about," she said a little wryly. "Hopefully it won't be about  _us_  again."

Enjolras regarded her silently for a long time, remembering the last time this topic had come up while they'd been talking in his office, days before the trials of Magnon and Duchamp. There had been a matter he'd dearly wished to at least mention at that point in time, but it had been evident that then she was too flustered to even contemplate it. The events that had transpired since that time had him all the more convinced that he would have to do more than a simple mention of this question. He looked at her keenly as he set down his coffee. "Eponine, there is something I want to discuss with you."

"Oh?"

He took a deep breath, hoping with every fiber of his being that she would not be startled or worse, angry at what he was about to ask. "When you said all those months ago that you wanted us to be respectable, where did you think it would lead up to?"

She pensively ran her fingers over his callused ones. "I didn't want to be your mistress, to go about the way others did; it wouldn't have been good for either of us, but you in particular," She paused when he held her hand more tightly. "I think after everything we've gotten ourselves into, there's only one place where respectable can end up."

"You already know."

Eponine bit her lip, but there was a growing hope evident in her expression when she met his gaze. "Antoine, are you sure? If you really are, then you know what my answer is."

Enjolras pressed a kiss to her hand, and was heartened to see her smile at this. "Absolutely."

Her eyes were bright with joy as she leaned in to kiss him lightly, making her answer even clearer. "So, when? Within this year, I s'pose?"

"What about before the end of summer? I'm sure we can manage that."

She smiled bemusedly at him. "You're eager."

"Is it too soon?"

"I s'pose so much the better then, before more things come up that could make us put it off," she said with a grin.

He nodded, seeing that she got his point."I hope this wasn't too abrupt," he confessed. "I don't even have a ring to give you."

Eponine laughed. "Not at all, not when it's you. As for the ring, I don't know what I'd do with such a shiner on my hand, not when I have so much to handle!"

Enjolras chuckled at her words before brushing her hair out of her face. "You say the oddest things. But you're in the right of it," he said before kissing her deeply, certain that now that there were no words fitting for the rest of their evening.


	74. Chapter 74: All Or Nothing

**Chapter 74: All or Nothing**

The Saturday morning of that same week was an odd time to be at the Barriere d'Enfer, but it was absolutely necessary for the conclusion of a matter that Eponine was anxious to resolve. ' _Who knows what can happen to them between here and Toulouse?'_ she thought as she listened to Jean Valjean explain to Montparnasse, Babet, and the Changer the route they were to take leaving Paris. It was a circuitous escape, involving departing the city in a hired carriage and heading to Livry, where they could find the diligence for the first lengthy leg of their trip to Toulouse. It would take the better part of the week till the trio would reach Toulouse, where they were to contact Tholomyes through a system of discreet signals. ' _I'll worry if he doesn't write back by the end of the month to tell us of how they are faring,'_ she thought as she approached her old friends.

The Changer nodded to her first. "Hopefully this will not be a case of 'no sooner spoken than broken,'" he told her wryly.

"If you mean silence, you'll have it, Citizen Isaac," Eponine replied. She laughed when she saw the Changer grin widely. "I've guessed your riddle properly again, haven't I?"

"You were always a clever girl," the Changer said.

"Not a Thenardier girl anymore," Babet remarked fondly as he smoothed out his coat. "You're no longer that skinny little thing I remember meeting when your family first came here to Paris. Your mother wanted to see you a lady, and you've done it by yourself." He poked Montparnasse's shoulder. "A silent goodbye won't do there, boy!"

Montparnasse smiled before giving her a polite bow. "I am indebted to you, Citizenness Enjolras."

Eponine's eyes widened at this new form of address. "I'm not yet married!"

"Not yet," the Changer said. He held up his hand before muttering something in Hebrew. "May peace be with you and your family for the rest of your days," he translated for her.

Eponine nodded gratefully. "And to you three too," she said, stepping aside to let them proceed to the carriage waiting a few paces away. As she watched the carriage draw further away down the Route d'Orleans, she found that she could finally let out a deep breath of relief, one that she did not even know she'd been holding. "I s'pose they'll have a good chance of it after all. No one in Toulouse knows who they are, except for Citizen Tholomyes," she said to Jean Valjean.

"As long as they can find joy in their situation, there will be no cause for worry," Jean Valjean remarked. He looked quizzically at Eponine. "Why did Montparnasse call you that?"

Eponine could not help but smile at this query. "I don't know. They're right though; I'm not  _yet_  married but I will be soon."

"My best wishes for you and Citizen Enjolras then," Jean Valjean said. "I pray you two will continue to be very happy together."

"I hope we will," Eponine said. "So what will you do now with the apartment at the Rue de L'Ouest?"

"I'm giving it to Cosette; I believe she may make use of it in her projects for gamins and finding a safe place for them," Jean Valjean replied. "It's small, but it is a good place to start."

"It's a very good idea," Eponine said as she adjusted her gloves. "I'll see Cosette and Marius later, at dinner. It's Bossuet's birthday, and there are more reasons to celebrate such as Nicholine having a good turn at her work and Combeferre's being a lecturer for the next round of classes this autumn."

Jean Valjean nodded. "A fete among friends? No wonder they've been busy with preparing for it." After a few more remarks and pleasantries, Jean Valjean took his leave and made his way back to the Rue des Filles du Calvaire, leaving Eponine to hurry to another day of work at the Rue des Macons.

This turn of events buoyed Eponine's already high spirits even further, to the point that she ended up singing snatches of old ditties even as she was at her desk. "Why, something must be agreeing with you more often as of late: is it the weather or a certain legislator?" Odette teased when she came into the front office to check on her assistant's work.

"I s'pose both!" Eponine said cheekily. ' _Little do you know though!'_ she found herself thinking as Odette left the room. She really wished she could have even just mentioned her engagement, but there were a number of compelling reasons for her to keep the fact a secret for a little while longer. ' _Especially since there is still one thing that could stop it all from happening,'_ she thought as she just managed to keep a spot of ink from straying onto her fingers.

She willed herself to focus on the task at hand, which was to put the final touches on two tracts, which were actually English and German translations of complied speeches and articles from various officials and journalists. Some of these speeches and articles had originally been created by various friends and associates; she recognized one of Enjolras' speeches, two articles each from Grantaire and Coutard , and even one of Feuilly' diplomatic chronicles. ' _Sometimes the words don't soar as nicely in this way,'_ she mused after getting through one passage that she knew had been worded as a riddle or rebus.

Regardless of this occasional diversion, the hours passed swiftly and soon it was four in the afternoon. Eponine felt her gut clench as she put her shawl and her hat, and then pocketed her reticule before heading out to the Place Saint-Michel. Although the square outside the Musain was crowded with passersby and hawkers, she immediately spotted Enjolras amid this confusion. She sneaked up behind him, taking advantage of the fact that he was engrossed in reading a newspaper, and most likely completely oblivious to everything. She stood on tiptoe so she could place her hands over his eyes even as she kissed his jaw. "Did you know it's dangerous not to pay attention that way, Antoine?" she teased.

Enjolras' smile was bemused but mirthful when he turned to face her. "Only around you," he quipped as he took both her hands. "Are you ready?"

"I'm ready if you are; you'll have to deal with the worst of it," Eponine said. "So where does the Surete say my father is staying?"

"He is living under his real name, and supposedly at a lodging house, Number 13 Rue d'Aligre. That is some way from the Etoile des Champs Elysees," Enjolras replied. "Do you know that address?"

Eponine shook her head. "It is so far from our old places; I thought he'd be at the Marais or maybe even back at the Gorbeau tenement," she said as they began walking. She straightened out his cuffs as they arrived at a street corner. "We don't really have to do this. He hardly concerns himself with me or anyone else."

"Eponine, it is absolutely necessary. We can't risk a legal impediment by proceeding without his permission, and it's not feasible to wait till you're twenty-one, which is when his consent will no longer be necessary," he pointed out.

She cringed at this last possibility; three years was far too long for an engagement, even of the respectable sort. "If he says we have to wait, would you still do it?" she asked as they boarded an omnibus and managed to find adjacent seats.

"Yes. I'm certain though that such a wait will not be necessary," Enjolras said confidently as he ran his fingers over the back of her neck.

"I know, but he's still going to be so hateful about it and he'll ask us for everything we cannot give," she pointed out, leaning a little into his touch. She bit her lip as she tried to imagine how these negotiations would play out; even though she and Enjolras had thought out replies for every possible scenario they could come up with, she knew that her father's spite would definitely color any discussion. ' _He used to care a little more than he does now. I don't know if he will remember that,'_ she thought.

Her unease only magnified when she and Enjolras arrived at the address, which turned out to be an opulently built residence with a rooftop and facade inspired by some Delphic temple. That was at least as far as could be ascertained from the street, as much of the house and the entire yard was hidden behind a tall brick wall. "Either we're mistaken, or this is a place for very opulent lodgers," Enjolras commented when he saw the place.

"Some sort of hotel maybe. We've stayed in places like those before," Eponine suggested, vaguely recalling a time when she was about twelve and the family had the audacity to install themselves in two grand rooms in the area of the Champ de Mars. ' _That was the last decent roof I had over my head for some years; the next was with Cosette at the Rue de L'Homme Arme!'_ she realized as she and Enjolras knocked on the carriage gate of the house.

After a few moments the gate opened just a crack. "Who goes there?" a crotchety porter demanded.

"Two visitors for Citizen Thenardier," Eponine began before the gate swung open completely, revealing the agog face of a porter. "It's only his daughter Eponine and Citizen Enjolras," she added quickly.

The porter's mouth opened and shut with disbelief. "You're that old gent's  _daughter_?"

"I know there's nothing of him in my face. I take more after my mother," Eponine remarked.

The porter shook his head. "With you so young and him so old and bent, I would have thought you were his granddaughter." He looked at Enjolras and clucked his tongue. "Forgive me for my remarks; please do not tell your father-in-law."

Eponine had to muffle a giggle, more so when she saw Enjolras trying his best to keep a straight face at this awkward request. "He's not my father-in-law," Enjolras finally said.

The porter raised an eyebrow. "I thought-"

"It's not of much concern," Eponine interrupted, unwilling to let on now about this matter. "So my father is home then? Can he receive visitors?" she asked the porter.

"It will be a pleasant surprise for him. Come on up, both of you," the porter said, letting them in. ""Most of the other lodgers are out for the day; he is the last to leave since he goes to the theater as a playwright. Says he's an old friend of Talma."

Enjolras frowned on hearing this ruse. "So he's using his real name and false details? That can prove to be dangerous," he said, leaning in close to Eponine's ear so that he would not be overheard.

"I s'pose it's part of a scheme to be respectable and obscure," Eponine explained. ' _He might have been intending to do such a thing if I'd chosen to help him all those months ago,_ she thought as she and Enjolras followed the porter up to a wide second floor corridor. The opulence of the house extended to its interior, with rich tapestries and soft carpeting, as well as ornate candlesticks and lamp stands gracing even the lowly hall.

The porter rapped his bony fist five times against the second to the last door in this hallway. "Your daughter and a friend are here to see you," he barked.

"What daughter-"Thenardier's voice growled before the apartment door swung open. It was evident at a glance that prosperity had descended on the former innkeeper; he was dressed in a clean, albeit oversized suit of clothes, and he had on a new set of shoes. His graying hair looked as if it had been curled the day before and gotten out of shape during his sleep. His belligerent gaze hardened as he realized who was visiting him. "You two have no manners. What are you doing here?"

"We're here because we have manners," Eponine replied, standing up straight. "May we come in? There's something that Enjolras and I need to speak with you about."

Thenardier glanced from Eponine to Enjolras, and after a moment a crafty leer spread over his face. "So you two have finally decided to become respectable," he sneered.

"To be more exact, we're here to ask for your consent to our upcoming marriage," Enjolras said in a level tone.

Thenardier burst out laughing. "A marriage! After all this time! So you two are going to play at being respectable bourgeoisie while leaving this poor old man behind here?"

"I would hardly call your situation a poor one, Father. You seem to have gotten on well enough without any help from me or Azelma, or maybe even what old friends you had," Eponine said. Although she did not have a good view of her father's lodgings, she could still tell that he'd somehow taken up residence in a clean suite of rooms. ' _He might even be doing better than we are,'_ she thought.

Thenardier looked pointedly at Enjolras. "You'll be taking away my daughter; I had hoped she would be my prop in my present infirmity. In my present circumstances, I cannot part with her for anything less than five hundred thousand francs."

Enjolras shook his head with evident disgust. "I will not discuss such things. You will not treat Eponine as if she is something to be sold," he said, stressing his fiancée's name.

"You are incorruptible indeed!" Thenardier mocked. "Surely at least you won't forget your dear father-in-law if you meet officials, even those from out of France."

"I will only warn you of the danger you will be getting into by abusing such connections," Enjolras replied. "I believe you will want to avoid a fate similar to that of the jeweller Citizen Duchamp."

The former innkeeper paled and seemed to falter for a moment before he drew himself up to his full height. "I will not consent to this marriage then. You may go on your way, good riddance to you."

Eponine grabbed the door before Thenardier could slam it shut. "Maybe we won't give money or any sort of favour. It's not something we'll do or ever agree to, marriage or not. But if you'll let me marry him, we will not ever trouble you again, and you can go your own way as you wish."

Thenardier gave her a beady stare for a moment. "What makes you think you could ask such a thing?"

"You and I have not concerned ourselves with each other for some time; it's a problem since people know you're my father and they wonder why the boys and I live as we do. It's not respectable, as you would say," Eponine said coolly, fighting hard to keep calm even though she could feel anger building in her chest. ' _He left me out in the cold before, and he would do it again_ ,' she reminded herself as she looked at her parent; she had seen this same hatred in his eyes before, one night at the Rue Plumet. She forced herself to meet his calculating look. "When I marry, you would not have to concern yourself with me again, or even with the others since I'll be caring for them. It will save you so much trouble and resolve all our difficulties."

Thenardier's face twitched. "You would do such a thing, at your age?"

"I'm the only family they've known for some time," Eponine answered. She swallowed hard, if only to banish the lump in her throat. "It's the last favour I'll ask from you and the last you could do for me."

"And you'd turn your back on your father in that way?"

"I s'pose if I've only been your daughter when you wish for me to be."

Thenardier raised his fist but at the last moment he relented and instead looked disbelievingly at Enjolras. "You, an upstanding young man, and you'd still join yourself to this slut? I do not know where she has gotten her morals; I raised my daughters to be good, and now she's become a disgrace-"

Enjolras' eyes narrowed with fury. "You have said enough."

Eponine quickly caught Enjolras' gaze and shook her head. "Never mind him," she whispered, even as she could feel her face beginning to burn at her father's words. She took a deep breath before moving to stand directly in front of Thenardier. "If that is what you really think of me, Father, then it should be easier for you to give your consent. It's all the better to have me out of your sight and out of your mind, for good perhaps."

For some moments Thenardier studied his daughter; it might have seemed then that some flicker of paternal affection softened his look, but it was replaced by a disdain that could only end in some sort of sundering. "Then you have it. Do as you wish but do not expect my blessing for it," he growled. "If you tire of this hussy or she takes up with another man, do not come complaining to me," he spat at Enjolras before jerking the door loose and finally slamming it shut such that the very wall seemed to shake.

Eponine let out a ragged sigh as she heard her father's footsteps retreating from the door; the feeling of pained relief was akin to that of a splinter finally being drawn out of an old wound. ' _It was long in coming; if it wouldn't have been over this it would have been something else,'_ she realized as she and Enjolras silently left the house.

"It's just as well that it ended up this way," she said to him once they were back on the Rue d'Aligre.

"Why so?" Enjolras asked as he brushed her hair away from her face.

"He won't have a claim on us. I told you once that I'd never allow him near Azelma or our brothers again. I never want him to have a hold on anyone else like you or any of our friends," she explained. She felt her breath catch as she suddenly recalled the vivacious little girl she'd seen in her dream; perhaps she'd somehow saved this child too. She smiled as she finally slipped her hand around Enjolras' palm. "I s'pose we can finally tell everyone later. You can write to your parents too. They will both be so relieved, especially your mother."

Enjolras smirked at this understatement. "They'll probably want to be here in Paris this summer."

"They will be, I'm sure of it. Your mother said so the last time we spoke to each other in person," Eponine said. She very nearly laughed as she imagined what would possibly transpire when they would meet Monique and Louis again; this older couple would certainly not pass up this opportunity to fuss over a wedding. ' _Since there is no one else they can do such a thing to,'_ she thought as she and Enjolras headed back to the Rue Jean Jacques Rousseau.

When they got there, her brothers were already dressed for dinner and doing their best to wait patiently for them outside the concierge's lodge. Neville was contentedly occupied with a book, but Gavroche was polishing off several crusts of bread while Jacques had taken to sitting on his hands. "Gavroche is ruining his dinner," Jacques said when he saw Eponine and Enjolras.

"Bread doesn't go by the same clock," Gavroche protested, dusting off his sleeves.

Eponine sighed at this evidence of her brother's markedly increased appetite, something which according to her friends was normal for a boy of Gavroche's age. "Cosette will have to tell her cook to set aside a whole course for you later," she said. "Before we all go there though, Antoine and I have something we'd like to tell you about."

Neville looked up from his book eagerly. "I told you, they're going to get married," he said to Gavroche and Jacques. "That's what they were talking about three nights ago!"

"If they were getting married, they wouldn't have been talking in the kitchen!" Jacques argued. "That's not how you do it, so they say."

"Who's 'they'?" Enjolras asked, not hiding his astonishment.

"All of the ladies, and also Prouvaire, Bahorel, and Joly," Gavroche deadpanned. "But Enjolras isn't a poet so that doesn't quite count."

Eponine nearly doubled over with laughter at this interesting flurry of reasoning. "Well you all should know; Antoine and I are getting married this summer," she finally said.

Gavroche made a face but he gave the engaged pair an approving look, while Neville cheered and put aside his book so he could hug his sister and then Enjolras. Jacques pouted for a moment before eyeing the pair seriously. "But that doesn't mean you'll be our parents?" he asked.

"That's not how it works," Enjolras replied, ruffling Jacques' hair. "You'll have to settle for my being your older brother in a way. "

Jacques scratched his nose. "You can't be an older brother. You're too big and you're nicer than Gavroche and Neville."

Eponine had to stop Gavroche from cuffing Jacques for this remark. "Anyway this means that some things are going to change, and there's going to be another wedding to attend."

"Such as?" Neville asked.

' _Aside from where we might live, who sleeps where, and how I write my name...'_ Eponine thought before shrugging as she realized that the list of future changes was not actually that long. "You'll see," she finally said.

At that moment Citizenness Leclair came in from the kitchen, still holding a broom. "I was so sure that it was going to happen someday," she greeted cheerily. "Congratulations to you two."

"You'll finally be able to raise the rent on the second floor apartments," Enjolras remarked.

Citizenness Leclair laughed. "Only if I dislike my next set of lodgers. You'd better remember to nail the floorboards back in place before you move out, since you do not have so many secret documents to hide anymore nowadays." She smiled broadly at Eponine. "I'm so proud of you, Eponine. You're very much a lady. I'm glad it's Enjolras who's sweeping you off your feet and not that idiotic lancer friend of yours."

Eponine rolled her eyes at this reference to Theodule, more so when her brothers made disgusted, gagging noises. "Now that is one man who would have tired of me," she said wryly.

The concierge nodded knowingly. "I'm sure you will be getting a grand place of your own after the wedding. I don't know how much help you'll have for keeping up such a place, but I have a useful thing or two I can teach you to make things easier in terms of housekeeping."

"I think I'd like that very much," Eponine said before excusing herself so she could freshen up in her apartment. ' _So many more things now are possible than they were this morning,'_ she realized as she washed her face and her hands, and changed the plain lace collar on her dress for something a little more appropriate for a dinner party. She was sure that the smile on her face would be telling enough for her friends at the Rue des Filles du Calvaire, even before she and Enjolras would be able to properly announce their engagement.

By the time Enjolras, Eponine, and the Thenardier boys all arrived at the Pontmercys' home, all their friends were there, the majority of them cooing and fussing over little Armand. Eponine immediately sought out Azelma at a quieter corner of the drawing room, who was quietly listening as Cosette, Claudine, and Musichetta debated some point of literature. "I s'pose by the end of the summer, you can now really call Enjolras your brother," she simply said to her sister in an undertone.

Azelma's eyes widened with confusion till a light of comprehension brightened her features. "I knew you two were going to be engaged! When did he ask?" she blurted out excitedly.

"Earlier this week actually," Eponine said. "We decided to wait till we got Father's consent before telling you, the boys, and everyone else."

By this time the three other women had overheard the sisters' conversation. "How clever of you and Enjolras to get engaged and have  _no one_  know about it!" Claudine laughed. "That news seems to have escaped even Combeferre!"

"How did he ask?" Musichetta, ever the romantic, inquired excitedly.

"I wouldn't say he asked me right out; we were talking about it and we agreed on the same thing," Eponine replied.

"Did this at least happen someplace other than your kitchen table?" Musichetta asked. Her jaw dropped when she saw Eponine trying her best to keep a straight face. "What kind of a proposal is that?"

"A sensible one," Cosette remarked. "The sort that does not bring about confusion."

"It's so  _prosaic_!" Musichetta griped. "If I was in your place, Eponine, I would have slapped him for going about it in such a way."

"If he'd gone about it any differently, I might have asked if he was ill or something," Eponine pointed out. She shook her head on hearing groans and catcalls coming from the other end of the drawing room; it seemed as if Enjolras had also received a similar reaction of disbelief from the rest of their friends. "Though I s'pose it's only because I don't like being confused either."

"Enjolras, that doesn't count as a proposal!" Prouvaire's exasperated voice rose above the din. "Go ask her again!"

"It certainly does," Eponine said, walking up to this group.

Enjolras nodded to her as he took her hand. "Are you quite sure about that?"

"I said 'yes', didn't I?"

Grantaire laughed at the disbelieving looks this reply elicited from everyone else. "You would make the most infuriating pair even for Homer."

"Then it is just as well that we're not in the  _Iliad,_  Capital R. This part of the verse would definitely have been cut out," Eponine quipped just as Basque came in to announce that dinner was served.


	75. Chapter 75: To Life

_Early update this week since I'm flying out of town for a medical mission, and won't be back till Tuesday._

**Chapter 75: To Life**

Shortly after the celebration at the Rue des Filles du Calvaire, this missive was put into the post:

_May 12, 1833_

_Rue J. J. R, Paris_

_Father,_

_I trust that you and mother are well and safe as you read this letter. It is good that the developments here in Paris have not had serious repercussions in Aix, apart from the belligerence of our neighbors. It would seem that the incorrigibility of the deputies here has found root and kindred even as far as the borders; the time for violence may be over but the verbal tussles may persist indefinitely in every Assembly._

_Much of the ongoing discussion is about the upcoming celebration of the June Days, at least as the larger newspapers have been referring to them. I entreat you to keep any household celebration simple; this is not the time for extravagance whether funded by the State or some large entity. I would not describe the festivities here in Paris as subdued in the strictest sense of the word, but much has been removed in the way of pageantry so as not to disrupt too greatly the usual pattern of everyday life and to avoid any unnecessary expenses. There is not to be any public declaration of any new decree, and absolutely no repetition of the Feast of the Supreme Being or Reason or whatever idol; the churches will still be encouraged to hold their daily Masses. There will be a commemoration for those who gave up their lives in last year's fighting. As to the rest of the revelry, that is still up for debate, but I am firm in my contention that this celebration be an honorable memorial as opposed to a midpoint to a bacchanalia._

_Those matters aside, it would please you both very greatly to know that Eponine and I have decided to marry. We have already obtained her father's consent, and the wedding is set for August 4. I would like to assure you, for your peace of mind, that the brevity of this engagement is not due to any sort of complication, but it is owing to our personal preferences and the fact that we will be very busy for the remainder of the summer in preparations for all the sessions and conventions in September. Gavroche, Neville, and Jacques will also be returning to their classes then, and that will be another matter to contend with. I hope that regardless of this short notice, that you and Mother will be present for the celebration. It would mean a great deal._

_Please send my regards to my cousins and feel more than free to share the news that I have just conveyed. I hope to receive your reply soon._

_Your son_

_Antoine_

Within a few days of its reception at Aix, this reply was sent back to Paris:

_May 25, 1833_

_My dear Antoine,_

_This letter is inadequate to express even half of my joy upon my reading your latest message. I am honored to finally welcome Eponine into the family, though I must say the point is rather moot since your mother has long regarded her as a daughter. She will doubtless send her effusive regards to the two of you; I fear we will run out of paper in this house thanks to the enthusiasm of her remarks._

_For my part, I congratulate you for your tenacity in wooing and winning such an exceptional young woman. Among all the ladies I have ever met, she stands out; not merely because of her connection to you but because of her courage and good sense. You are not a particularly easy person to fathom, and you are dedicated to a less than comfortable situation; the fact that she is still at your side only confirms my high regard of her character._

_I have already made arrangements to put enough money at your disposal so you will be able to purchase a house where you, Eponine, and her brothers can live comfortably._ _**Please** _ _accept this wedding gift, and do not be parsimonious with your choices. I am certain your household will expand one day, and you would like to be well prepared for it._

_Your mother and I will certainly be in Paris before the end of July, and will be staying till the second or third week of August. Most certainly this will be the best visit we have made yet, and hopefully the beginning of many others._

_Sincerely,_

_Your father_

This second missive arrived in Paris on the morning of the fifth of June. ' _Thankfully this matter is less tedious to consider than places at this fete,'_ Enjolras thought as he pocketed the note after rereading it for the third time as he alighted from an omnibus on the Rue Saint Denis. He had left his home a little bit ahead of his neighbours, in order to see to some appointments before the day's festivities. It was as fine a morning as could be asked for at this point in the summer; the skies were clear and a pleasant breeze banished the otherwise oppressive heat that would have made celebrating difficult, if not nigh impossible.

He looked around the crowded street, wondering how long it would be till he would catch sight of a familiar face or two. It had been decided that a commemorative parade would start in the neighbourhood of the Faubourg Saint-Antoine and proceed via a rather meandering route through Les Halles towards the Hotel de Ville, in a sense 'retracing' how the tide had turned from the barricades to the eventual surrender of Louis-Philippe's regime. The event was anything but martial; everyone was dressed gaily, various parties and factions showed up bearing ribbons and banners, and a good number of onlookers had gone so far as to break off green boughs with which to greet the procession. Yet despite this revelry, the undercurrent of daily life still continued; no shops were closed, people still sat eating and drinking in cafes, and vendors hawked their wares wherever they pleased, taking advantage of the fact the streets were crowded. ' _The celebration is only a breath in the space of things,'_ Enjolras thought as he walked down towards the Rue de Chanvrerie.

He had not been to this bistro in a number of months, not since Mother Hucheloup removed to the outskirts of Paris and gave up the bullet-scarred premises to the elements and posterity. Yet this site was anything but forgotten; the bistro's boarded up entrance was free of debris, and there was a commemorative plaque fixed to a nearby wall. A lone visitor was there now, setting a basket of rhodonderons next to the door.

"For an old friend," Marius said somberely when he turned around and saw Enjolras. "I am not sure you remember him. His name was Father Mabeuf."

"The man who returned the flag to the top of the barricade," Enjolras said, clasping Marius' shoulder. For a moment he could almost see that old man again, with a brave but desperate light in his eyes as he rushed to replace the flag and fell upon the completion of this deathly task. "You never mentioned how you knew him?" he asked Marius.

"His brother was a church-warden. He was the one who introduced me to my father, in a way," Marius explained. He was silent for a few moments, his attitude one of reverence as he looked at the rhodonderons. "If only he had kin someplace, I would properly give them my thanks. This would have to do though," he added as he put his hat back on. "I have to get back to Cosette. Should I wait for you?" he asked Enjolras.

"Go on ahead. I'll stay here a little longer," Enjolras replied. As soon as Marius was away, he looked around the place, seeing once more the redoubt as it had stood in the hours before the first attack. He could almost imagine again where he had waited, where comrades had been loading their weapons, and where his friends had sat and listened to Prouvaire reciting an old love poem. ' _We hardly knew then if we'd ever emerge from here,'_ he thought.

After a few moments he heard a step in the direction of the Rue Mondetour. "I thought you'd be at work, or at the parade," he said to Eponine by way of greeting as she stepped out from around the corner.

"I'm going back to work after lunch. As for the parade, I think I'll have a better view of it later. My brothers are following it though; they're with Bahorel and Bossuet," Eponine replied, picking some dirt off the hem of her red dress. Her eyes widened when she noticed the flowers that Marius had left behind. "Rhodonderons. I remember watering a garden of them once," she mused aloud.

"When was that?" Enjolras asked.

"Some time after I was let out of prison. The first time around." She ran her free hand over the nicked bricks of the wineshop, tracing the brass plaque affixed to the entrance. "How high was the barricade?"

"By the time the fighting was over, it was up to the second storey," Enjolras replied, gesturing to a gouged out area in a far wall. He looked wryly at Eponine, remembering now that this was where he'd first seen her, or at least learned of her name. "I am sure that then, you were not here to really fight."

Eponine shook her head. "It was quite wicked of me to be here. You know I hid Cosette's letter to Marius. I thought it would bring him here, and it did. I thought I'd die with him as well." She took a deep breath. "It's funny. I thought I loved him."

"What do you mean?"

"I didn't know him so well, and I s'pose that I wanted all the wrong things," she replied, smiling slightly at Enjolras. She stepped over and deftly smoothed out the lapels of his coat. "Did you ever imagine all this would happen?"

Enjolras glanced towards the Rue de Chanvrerie again, remembering how it had been to be at the summit of the barricade and facing the enemy, all the while waiting for reinforcements from the other groups in Les Halles. "I had hoped we'd win, but I didn't quite picture the details of what happened after," he said at length as he took her hands, which were still resting on his shoulders.

"Such as whether you'd be doing what you're doing now?"

"That and a few other things," Enjolras admitted. He kissed her forehead gently. "You know what I mean."

She was beaming as she pulled him close for a light kiss. "I s'pose that's why you'll have me to remind you of those details," she quipped against his lips. "Speaking of that, but in another sense, have you read all those letters from Aix yet?"

Enjolras nodded. "How long was my mother's letter to you?"

Eponine laughed mirthfully. "Eight pages! What about yours?"

"The same," he said. He pulled his father's letter out of his pocket and placed it in her palm. "The second to the last paragraph is something that will interest you."

Her eyes widened as she read through the letter. "Does your father really mean it?" she asked as she handed the missive back.

"It surprised me too," he remarked. "I do not think we can refuse."

"I do not think we  _should_ ; we can't keep renting rooms forever since it does add up to a terrible expense even when there's two of us with wages," she replied.

"We would have to do it eventually," Enjolras concurred, smiling at her practical line of thought, but more so when he felt her slip her arms around him and heard her contented sigh as she rested her cheek against his coat. He could feel her lips curve into a smile against his shoulder even as he began to run his fingers through the ends of her hair. There were no words he could find to properly convey what he wanted to say, so he settled for holding her a little longer, content with the fact that she was as real as this much unlooked for summer day.

After a while he could hear music in the air as well as the shouts and cheers of the marchers passing near the Rue Saint Denis. "Shall we?" he asked.

Eponine nodded breathlessly as she smoothed down her dress. "I s'pose they'll be looking for you at least. You after all were among the leaders of that entire battle."

"As long as we make it to the memorial ceremony, that shouldn't cause too much of a stir," he said, taking her hand as they left the Rue de Chanvrerie together.

The streets were so crowded such that Enjolras and Eponine were only able to find their friends in the neighbourhood of the Marche Saint Jean, a little bit away from the Hotel de Ville. Bahorel and Therese were closest to the curb, chatting with Therese's cousin and some other friends from the Prefecture. A few paces away at a small cafe, Feuilly, Prouvaire, and Azelma were standing on chairs.

Gavroche, Neville, and Navet, who had climbed up onto a stack of crates, whistled and waved to the newcomers. "Struck off the roll for tardiness!" Gavroche hollered to them.

Eponine made a face at him. "You're in the wrong seat!" she retorted before looking to where Allyce and Leonor were signalling to her. "Later then?" she whispered to Enjolras.

"At lunch," he said, patting her hand before they parted ways. He had to keep a straight face at the thought of attending a grand luncheon hosted by Florentin Ouvrard. He, Eponine, and a number of other friends had received invitations owing to their respective work or positions in the government or various groups, but he was also just as aware that invitations had also been extended to a number of personages he was not looking forward to dealing with on this day.  _'This is not the time to draw more lines,'_ he reminded himself.

"Enjolras! There's to be dinner at the Musain later," Bahorel called to his friend. "It would be good to go drinking for once without any danger of gunfire."

Enjolras nodded at this slightly nostalgic remark. "What time then?"

"Six in the evening. I think Courfeyrac wants to bring Armand along, and you know a little one can't be out too late, The Pontmercys are coming too," Therese chimed in.

Bahorel sighed resignedly at this. "This is what we get for surviving to be responsible."

"Damien, don't tell me you regret it!" Therese scolded.

At that moment Enjolras felt a tug on his coattails, and he looked down to see Jacques grinning up at him. "Do I have to take off my shoes first?" Jacques asked.

"No, not this time," Enjolras replied as he picked Jacques up in order to let the boy climb onto his shoulders. He could hear his friends laughing as he did this, but Enjolras decided that just this once wouldn't be particularly detrimental. He glanced around and saw Eponine grinning at this sight; it was clear from the light in her eyes that she was on the verge of laughing out loud with approval at what she saw.

"Come on! We have to go see the wreath-laying!" Neville crowed from his precarious perch. He managed to climb down to the ground carefully. "See you there!" he shouted before hobbling ahead of Gavroche and Navet, who caught up to him in a few seconds and nearly tackled him but instead they threw their arms around his shoulders as they continued to follow the parade.

"It's good to see Neville being a child for once," Combeferre remarked as he walked up to Enjolras and Jacques. "He's not like some of us; he's meant to stay young a little longer."

"Is his leg ever going to get better when he gets bigger?" Jacques asked the physician.

"It's not coming back but he'll have less trouble with it," Combeferre replied.

Jacques nodded quizzically before looking around again. "Can we go to the front of the parade?" he asked Enjolras.

"As near as we can manage," Enjolras replied. It was a little awkward for him to walk about with Jacques perched on his shoulders, but somehow he was able to accomplish this without much mishap. Along the way he also spotted the rest of their friends in the crowd; Courfeyrac was with Bossuet, Marthe, Joly, and Musichetta; Courfeyrac had little Armand with him and was pointing out things to the child. Grantaire was gleefully touring some guests from outside Paris, his ebullience only being checked now and then by Nicholine's more staid explanations. He also found Marius, Cosette, and Claudine as they met up with Combeferre. Many other friends and acquaintances were in this crowd, and their passage was occasionally halted by a cheerful greeting or brief conversation.

The memorial was brief; Lafayette gave only a short address before some children came forward to lay a large wreath at the steps of the Hotel de Ville, in honor of the fallen. The sight of this was somehow sobering to Enjolras, despite his markedly lifted spirits. ' _A high price, and one which hopefully no one will have to pay again,'_ he thought.

Jacques looked down at him quizzically. "Who is that for?"

"People you will learn about when you get older," Enjolras said.

The boy nodded seriously. "Ponine, Gavroche, Combeferre, and everyone else said that you were leading all that fighting last year."

"What about it?"

"Were you scared?"

Enjolras paused, wondering how to best word his answer. "It was not in the usual way,  _petit_ ," he finally said. For his part, he could not have said it was genuine fear that possessed him at some moments, but rather a keen sense of driven desperation, something a little bit more than the mere instinct for survival. ' _But on the whole, it was for this sort of light,'_ he decided as he looked around the crowd, which had now begun to sing the familiar lines, ' _Allons enfants de la Patrie, Le jour de gloire est arrivé!'_ There was a new spirit and majesty in the lyrics, mingled with a great and terrible joy that seemed to prevail even as the crowd applauded the end of the proceedings and then dispersed to return to work or to proceed to more private revelries.

It took a few minutes for Enjolras and Jacques to reach the side of the square, where Gavroche, Neville, and Navet were now with Eponine, Feuilly, and Combeferre. "We survived the barricade only to choke on today's luncheon. What an irony this will be," Feuilly muttered a little ruefully.

"We can afford to stay only long enough to be polite. Citizen Ouvrard will understand that we all have work to return to," Enjolras said.

Eponine looked at her brothers. "You boys behave at Picpus, and don't give Claudine and Combeferre a difficult time. I'll come by for you at around four," she said.

"There's no need to worry about that; I have a part of an experiment that I think they would be interested in. You too, Navet," Combeferre said gamely. "It will be even more fun than your school lessons," he said, eliciting a more enthusiastic grin from Gavroche.

"I hope that the house will still be left standing after," Enjolras joked, knowing all too well the occasionally messy results of his friend's scientific work. After a few more minutes, the boys and Combeferre went to find an omnibus, leaving the other three to head to Ouvrard's home on the Rue Corbeau in the Marais.

The fair weather allowed for the luncheon to be held outdoors; the yard of Ouvrard's house was a maze of tables set up under trees and in between lines of bushes. Everyone could see and be seen in this garden; this became clear to Enjolras even as he, Eponine, and Feuilly stepped into the yard; even people at the far end of the garden stopped to look their way and a buzz of conversation started up at some tables, more so when Ouvrard was seen to break away from a discussion with some of his party-mates in order to greet the newcomers.

"I'm glad that you three could take the time to attend," the elderly man greeted. "It's good to see that varying party affiliations haven't gotten in the way of celebrating this happy occasion; I had never thought we'd see it."

Enjolras nodded, already noticing his colleagues Bamatabois and Mathieu in this crowd as well as some friends from the  _Radicaux_ party. Also there were Feuilly's associates from the diplomatic corps, as well as Allyce, Simone, and some of Eponine's other friends from the  _Societe des Femmes pour Egalite et Fraternite_. "It's not a day for any one person or group to claim solely for their own," he said amiably.

Ouvrard smiled approvingly. "If only some of the other guests could have just as much good cheer," he said; somehow he was seen to glance momentarily towards where a few of his own friends such as the Lafontaines were seated. "But rest assured that will pass after a little wine; though I am aware that you in particular do not imbibe?" he added, much to Eponine's and Feuilly's laughter.

"His habits are becoming a little infamous," Eponine said, giving Enjolras a teasing, good-humored smile.

"You know I've never had the taste for it," Enjolras reminded her.

"You are the contagious one here, Citizenness. I have never been in the company of so many political women," Ouvrard said to Eponine. He nodded to Feuilly. "There are a number of writers here who'd like to hear more from you regarding your observations from your assignment to England. Shall I make the necessary introductions?"

Feuilly just managed a smile. "If it is necessary."

Enjolras discreetly clapped his friend on the back by way of encouragement. "They will have much to learn from you," he said before Feuilly and Ouvrard went off to another table. He went to speak to some of his colleagues, while Eponine quickly sought out Simone, who was apparently trying to deal with Bamatabois' detractors. ' _This may be short but eventful,'_ he noted.

He was in the middle of a lively discussion with Mathieu when he heard an indignant yell from a group from the Montmartre district. "What is it your business if you saw someone posting their wedding banns?" Rossi scolded a friend of his. "It's not as if you have any particular objection to bring up to that match!"

"Yes, but how could such a pair get engaged without anyone knowing about it?" a matron groused, glancing from Eponine and then to Enjolras. "Unless of course there is a reason for them to keep the matter concealed."

 _'Of all times for someone to mention an engagement,'_ Enjolras thought, already readying to disabuse this group of their notions. He caught Eponine's eye just as she was stepping towards the group; clearly she was up to the same thing and she fully intended to enjoy it, if the look on her face was any sort of indicator.

Eponine tapped Rossi on the shoulder. "By any chance, was this in the church at St. Sulpice?" she asked candidly.

"Yes…" Rossi trailed off as he realized that Eponine was speaking in utmost seriousness. "So those banns were not a prank?"

"Why would anyone joke about such a serious thing?" Eponine said. "Not even Bahorel and Grantaire would, and you know what pranksters they can be."

"I don't know, because there has been a lot of speculation on it…" Rossi said uneasily as he looked away from her and glanced at Enjolras. "She's joking, isn't she?" he asked.

"Certainly not. We thought that the required wedding banns would suffice as a formal enough announcement," Enjolras deadpanned. He heard the Lafontaines gasp in outrage, even as other friends stopped in mid-conversation or ambled over to hear what was going on. "I doubt that anyone here can raise a  _legitimate_  objection to the fact," he added.

Rossi gaped at Enjolras and Eponine before laughing out loud. "I should have known; if I'd seen it in the papers, I would have known it to be a joke." He raised his mostly full glass of wine. "Allow me to be the first to wish you two well. May you have anything but a quiet life together; that idyll doesn't suit you."


	76. Chapter 76: Arrivals and Familial Matters

**Chapter 76: Arrivals and Familial Matters**

The next few weeks were characterized by an uncharacteristic calm, the sort that was almost welcome to everyone except for those of more restless temperaments such as Bahorel, Grantaire, and Gavroche. ' _This summer is already quite hot enough without tempers being that way,'_ Eponine thought to herself one afternoon as she quickly alighted from an omnibus in the Marais.

She wiped her face and pulled her hair back from her face in an effort to still appear fresh and less harried, a feat that was becoming increasingly difficult in the humidity of mid-summer. Although it was almost five in the afternoon, the heat was still far too oppressive for her taste. ' _Hopefully there will be a cool breeze or two in August,'_ she thought. It was already the seventeenth of July, a little over two weeks away from a day she was very much looking forward to.

However there were more immediate matters at hand, such as the very reason she was in the Marais today. Regardless of the fact that it was a warm day, she still ran to the Rue des Filles du Calvaire. This time Nicolette let her in the house readily, only saying, "Madame la Baronne is expecting you upstairs."

"Is she well? How is her little one?" Eponine asked as she tossed aside her hat, her shawl, as well as her bag of documents.

"As well as any woman should be. The little one is a son by the way; is practically the Baron in miniature," Nicolette said happily.

Eponine laughed as she immediately pictured a baby with Marius' brooding expression and slightly startled eyes. "I am sure that only makes Cosette doubly happy today," she said before racing upstairs and following the sound of conversation towards a half-open door towards the end of the hall. She took a moment to peek into the room and smiled at the sight of Cosette sitting propped up in bed, conversing with Marius, all the while stopping now and then to glance at the swaddled bundle in her arms. Cosette was fresh-faced, with her wavy hair neatly combed back and tumbling past her shoulders. Her mien was soft and radiant, akin to that of a Madonna.

Eponine knocked on the door twice before pushing it open gingerly. "You sent for me?"

"I did, and it's good to finally see you!" Cosette replied. "Azelma, Prouvaire, Courfeyrac, and Armand were here about an hour ago."

"I had to finish some things at work, and there is a meeting later at Picpus," Eponine said, finding an extra chair near the bed. "You look so well, Cosette. I wouldn't have thought that it was only this morning that you gave birth."

"I've had some hours to make myself presentable," Cosette said candidly.

"Ah, that's true. So what's his name going to be?"

"Georges. That was my father's name," Marius explained, his smile now almost giddy and boyish. "Cosette swears that he looks like me all over again, but I think he has her nose."

"The second is a good thing I s'pose," Eponine said, peering at the ruddy faced newborn dozing in her friend's arms. She couldn't help but wonder what Marius' grandfather thought of the infant's name, but she knew better than to bring this up. "He's awfully quiet isn't he? Armand wouldn't calm down for hours when he was born."

"He's tired from a long day," Cosette explained. "We've had well-wishers coming in since after lunch."

Marius cleared his throat. "I already asked Courfeyrac to be Georges' godfather, but we still want you to attend the christening this Saturday."

"Why?"

"You and Azelma are the only sisters I've ever known," Cosette said. "I understand though if you find this a bit of an imposition. I know you're busy since you have work and a wedding to plan."

"No, I'll be there. It would be nice to attend a happy christening for once," Eponine reassured her. She bit her lip as the memory of Paulette's last moments flashed through her mind, but she willed herself to dispel the gloom by taking in the scene that was right before her. ' _Cosette made it through like so many other women do,'_ she reminded herself even as she heard Marius excuse himself.

Cosette sat up straighter, all the while keeping her hold on Georges. "I never thought that this would happen. Has it really been so long since we were children together?"

"Only ten years," Eponine said dryly. "Though it feels like nine years and another lifetime."

"It's turning out better than most of us imagined," Cosette pointed out, stopping to stroke her son's cheek. "He's beautiful. I always believed he would be, but seeing him..."

"Is something else. I s'pose it's always that way," Eponine finished. The expression on Cosette's face was beatific and content, something which Eponine was sure her mother never wore, at least where Gavroche, Neville, and Jacques were concerned. The younger woman had to look away for a moment if only to keep her composure at the memories that suddenly welled up, not just of her own time at Montfermeil but of darker nights and not knowing what to do about a little boy squalling in a cradle while her mother tried to ignore that relentless clamor. ' _Might I be taking better care of the boys than she ever wanted to?'_ she wondered silently, frowning a little at the irony of it all. Then again, she figured it was probably one of the better outcomes in their odd situation, more so since she was not alone in bringing up her brothers.

"I know that Musichetta and Therese are taking charge of your trousseau, as a present. That isn't the only thing that some of us have arranged by the way of wedding gifts. I thought you ought to know," Cosette remarked at length.

"Who is 'us'?" Eponine asked, now a little startled at having been so abruptly drawn out of her reverie.

"Marius, myself, my father, and of course a whole lot of our other friends," Cosette said merrily. "We all thought that you and Enjolras would need some practical things for setting up your home. So we made a list of the things you will  _not_  have to buy over the next few weeks since we're taking care of all of that," she explained, gesturing to a drawer in the bedside table.

Eponine retrieved a carefully folded piece of paper and shook it out before reading its contents aloud. "Linens, plates, teacups, bookshelves, candlesticks...Cosette, this is far too much!" She gaped at her friend in disbelief. "We couldn't do it for when you and Marius got married, and we weren't so grand either for Joly and Chetta!"

"Marius and I live in this house with Grandfather and thus we do not have to worry about so many expenses. Joly and Musichetta have had a house of their own for years now so they have little need to worry about practicalities. You and Enjolras are just starting out, and with your brothers to take care of," Cosette reasoned. "For my part, consider it my thanks for your having helped me with so many things such as getting my projects together, and for Enjolras' saving my father from being put in prison."

Eponine sighed, knowing that she would not be able to dissuade Cosette or any of their other friends. Besides, who was she to reject help of the most practical sort? "I'm going to find  _some_  way to thank you and everyone else for this," she said resolutely.

A knock sounded on the door. "Cosette? Shouldn't you be resting?" Jean Valjean asked as he stepped into the room.

"I feel very well, Father," Cosette replied. "Why don't you sit with us for a little while?"

Jean Valjean smiled and acceded to his daughter's request, taking a seat on the opposite side of Cosette's bed. "It's good that you came to visit, despite all the things you have to see to," he said amiably to Eponine. "I hope all is well?"

"Yes, though I s'pose I could use more hours in a day, not just the extra sunlight," Eponine replied.

Cosette smiled sympathetically. "Especially since it's almost the mid-year deadline for voting on the petitions everyone has filed."

"It's why the other ladies and I met yesterday and figured out how we'll finally get the legislators and deputies to give a good vote to our petition. It would be awful for us to have to start over," Eponine explained. That deadlock was the one dark spot this summer, more so since most attempts at lobbying had fallen so far on deaf ears, regardless of whatever innovative ways that she, her fellow society members, and even friends in the legislature and other departments could come up with.

She bit her lip before looking at Jean Valjean keenly. "Would you mind if I asked a big sort of favor? It's nothing with politics."

Jean Valjean looked at her curiously. "What is it?"

Eponine took a deep breath, wondering how to word her request. "I s'pose it is odd but you're the person who I think I should ask. Could you please be a witness at my wedding?"

For a moment Jean Valjean appeared startled. "I do not wish to usurp the place of your father on that day, child. It should be his place to give you away then," he said graciously.

"He doesn't concern himself with me. He gave his consent but of course he wouldn't be happy about what I've been doing and I doubt he ever will," Eponine said. She swallowed hard before speaking again; she still couldn't understand why even mentioning her rift with her father was such a difficult matter. "After all you've done for me; you took me in when no one else would, and after all you've done for my friends, it's the best way I can think of to thank you."

"You have been more of a father to her over the past year than her own parent," Cosette pointed out to Jean Valjean. "She's a sister to me too, so it wouldn't be out of place."

The gentleman bowed his head. "I am honoured then."

Eponine nodded gratefully. "Thank you," she said, stopping short of adding the word 'Father'; somehow addressing him as 'Citizen' felt far too formal and short. After a great deal more of pleasant discussion, she took her leave of her friends and headed back to the Latin Quartier, promising once again to be present at Georges' baptism.

The sun was low in the sky but not yet quite setting, and a cool breeze had finally begun to rise, doing much to make the evening pleasant. ' _I'd like to stroll in the Luxembourg, but there's still a bit I have to see to,'_ Eponine thought as she finally reached the street corner of the Rue Jean Jacques Rousseau. She paused at the sight of a crowd gathering further down the street, apparently gathering at the doorstep of the tenement. As she drew closer, she could see her concierge on the doorstep, brandishing a broom in the face of a man she recognized as being one of the newer writers at the  _Moniteur._

Citizenness Leclair waved frantically to Eponine. "Finally you can help me get these devils away from here! Tell them you've got no wish for interviews this evening -""

Before Eponine could say anything, the throng of newshounds suddenly converged around her. "Citizenness Thenardier is it true that you'll soon be resigning from being the assistant chairperson of the women's society?" one of the older writers shouted.

Eponine was stunned at this question. "Where did you hear such a silly thing?"

"Word at the Place du Pantheon," the journalist replied. "It is only to be expected though, given your upcoming marriage."

"Why would that change anything?" Eponine asked.

"You will have no need to agitate when you are well provided for by your husband," the writer from the  _Moniteur_  said.

"Citizenness Legendre has a husband. So does my good friend Citizenness Musichetta Joly. They're not the only ones I can name," Eponine pointed out, keeping one hand still on the strap of her bag of documents. "You already know that so many women have to do  _something_  to help their families since one person alone can't always bring in enough bread for everyone."

"That is correctly said, Citizenness. Eventually though, it will be inappropriate to be extremely vocal about your personal politics especially when connected to such prominence," the journalist pressed on.

Eponine frowned at this idea. "That does not make sense. My vote is separate from anyone else's; that is in the Charter. So why should speaking out on politics be any different?"

"Not all men would stand to be so publicly contested."

"I I wouldn't want to have much to do with a man who'd either cower too easily or pretend to be a tyrant once there is some disagreement with how to go about things."

The journalist blanched even as his colleagues snickered and in some cases, actually applauded. "This will make a disturbing precedent," he muttered as soon as he regained his composure.

Eponine crossed her arms, unwilling to capitulate any further to his baiting her into discussion. "I s'pose that's all then. You're blocking my way to the house, and I'm not about to have interviews out here in the street."

"You're lucky she's the one who came home first and not Citizen Enjolras. Look for your stories elsewhere," the concierge upbraided the journalists. She turned around all of a sudden and shook her head. "Jacques, go back upstairs!"

Jacques squeezed past Citizenness Leclair and ran to his sister. "Ponine, why are they still here?" he asked, tugging on Eponine's skirt. "They keep asking us about so many things we don't know about."

Eponine's eyes widened with shock as she realized what the journalists had been up to, a dire suspicion that was confirmed when some of the men lowered their eyes or looked away guiltily. She carefully stepped between her brother and the journalists, carefully placing a hand on Jacques' shoulder. "I don't care what questions you ask, but I shan't let you pester my brothers for anything. If you want a story you'll have to wait for me someplace. You'd better tell that to your friends and employers too," she said, her voice sharp with annoyance.

"Our apologies then if we...overstepped our boundaries," the oldest journalist said gravely.

Eponine nodded firmly by way of accepting this apology before looking past her concierge towards where Gavroche and Neville were waiting on the stairwell, already ready to pelt a pair of worn out shoes at the nearest unsuspecting journalist. "You all should shoo; you can get a better dinner elsewhere tonight," she told the crowd, earning another round of laughter.

"I think we've inconvenienced the young lady enough," the leader of this group said, waving to his colleagues. "Perhaps at a more conducive time, Citizenness?" he asked Eponine more kindly.

"And with better questions. Good evening to you," Eponine replied.

Citizenness Leclair shook her head in disbelief as the group gradually dispersed. "I hope they will think twice before attempting again such a mean trick, especially at your new home on the Rue Guisarde," she said to Eponine as they entered the house.

"Over there, it is  _much_  easier to throw things; there are more windows and the door is a little wider," Eponine quipped even as she glanced at her other brothers and their impish expressions. "Whose shoes were those?" she asked Gavroche as she shut the door behind her.

"Mine. Look whose toes I'm borrowing today," Gavroche said, holding up one foot.

Eponine bit her lip on seeing that her brother was wearing Courfeyrac's old shoes. "At least they aren't squeaking. You should have said so earlier if your shoes were pinching you," she said as she took off her hat, followed by her gloves.

"They weren't till two hours ago."

"Tomorrow we're going to the cobbler. I'm not letting you go barefoot even if it's summer."

Gavroche only thumbed his nose cheekily before kicking off his footwear and following his siblings into the kitchen. He grabbed a whole loaf of bread from the cupboard and began to munch on it while waiting for Eponine to finish preparing their repast. "Going barefoot gives one better soles," he said, pointing to his bare feet.

"Yes, till you get a splinter or two. Besides there are still nasty puddles in summer and you know how awful smelling those are," Eponine said as she put some stew into bowls and set on a plate some cooked rashers of meat. "Jacques, the cheese is for tomorrow morning," she said, catching her youngest brother trying to look through the cupboard.

Jacques scowled as he shoved a piece of Brie back into the cupboard. "But I want to eat it now!"

"Yes, and if you do that you won't have anything much for your bread tomorrow, how would you like that?" Eponine said.

Citizenness Leclair laughed as she sat down to join the young people at their dinner. "You definitely sound like his mother some times," she remarked to Eponine.

Eponine shrugged. "It's not such a bad way to go about it, I hope?"

"Not at all. He's so little, that's what he needs," Citizenness Leclair said.

After a while Neville looked up at the sound of more knocking at the door. "Another fly to chase away!" he said as he scratched his cat between its ears.

Eponine sighed and got up from the table, already quietly preparing what harsh retort she would have to make to this disturbance personified. She opened the door a crack and saw Musichetta there, carrying a large basket. "Oh thank goodness it's you, Chetta! I thought I was going to have to get a stick to poke at one of those writers," she laughed.

"That mob down there?" Musichetta said, gesturing to the journalists who had retreated only as far as the street corner. "What are they waiting for?"

Eponine rolled her eyes. "If they want to sleep there all night, it's not my concern. Though I doubt they'll want to do that after Enjolras or Combeferre finds them there."

Musichetta giggled and shook her head. "I'm sorry if I interrupted your dinner, but Therese told me to rush here and ask your opinion about some laces we found, and also to fit this one dress." She laughed at Eponine's rather confused look. "It's supposed to be a present, but we don't want to give you something that does not fit you."

"I s'pose that's sensible," Eponine said as she let Musichetta into the house and showed her upstairs. She showed her friend the list she'd acquired from Cosette. "Did you know anything about this?"

"Yes of course!" Musichetta said, giving her a wide grin. "I know what it may seem like to you, but it's really something we want to do."

"Isn't it too much trouble?"

"It is difficult enough not to have any relatives to help one through these things, and I don't want you to be overwhelmed," Musichetta continued more gently as she set down the basket. "First these laces. Wouldn't they look nice on a nightdress?" she said, laying out several pieces of tatting on a table.

Eponine held up a piece of lace worked in the pattern of dainty flowers. "I think this one looks nice."

"It's rather plain, isn't it?" Musichetta said. "I have nicer ones."

"I don't want something that will make me itch when I sleep," Eponine pointed out.

"Who says you have to sleep the entire night in it?" Musichetta teased as she put the laces back in the basket. "By the way, it's nice that you'll all be moving to the Rue Guisarde. Patrice, Bossuet, and I are only a short walk away, and it's not too far either from where Prouvaire and Azelma are, or Bahorel and Therese, or even Grantaire and Nicholine on the Rue de Gres. Combeferre will still be here though?"

"For a few more months, but I think he means to eventually stay with Claudine," Eponine replied. "It's far from the Sorbonne, but he thinks that they can do their work better at Picpus since there is more space there for experiments."

Musichetta nodded as she pulled a green dress out of the basket. "Do you like this color? I've always thought it brings out your hair best."

"Yes. I've never thought of it that way before though, I just figured it didn't make me look so pale all the time," Eponine said as she shook out the dress to try it on. It was of a simple but elegant make, with slightly puffed sleeves, a more modest neckline, and some light embroidery in the shape of scrolls along the waistline and the hem of the garment.

"It's not exactly from this month's fashion sketches; those wouldn't look good on your shoulders," Musichetta explained, going to help Eponine fasten the dress. She stepped back and smiled approvingly. "Therese was right to take in the waist. It's very becoming. If only you had a mirror to see it."

"I do not need to worry. It  _feels_  like it suits me. Thank you," Eponine concurred. Although Musichetta and Therese were not exactly the sorts who catered to the highest of society, she always felt that her friends had a better knack for knowing their clientele and making them feel prettier than the latest designs could possibly manage. The sound of sharp voices from further down the street snapped her out of her reverie. "It seems as if those journalists won't be sleeping there after all," she laughed as she began to change out of the new dress.

"If they catch some cold or draught from this weather, I am sure Patrice or Combeferre would not mind having an extra patient or two in the next few days," Musichetta joked. "I'll show you some of the other things as soon as we're finished with them. Though I should ask again, are you very  _sure_  about the color of your wedding dress?"

Eponine nodded gleefully. "I've worn that hue before."

"Clearly it's not just your fiancé you intend to leave speechless on that day," Musichetta said. "I'll let you try it on by next week. I don't believe in that superstition of not allowing the bride to fit the wedding dress before the day itself. It causes so much trouble for the seamstress or whoever has to alter the wedding attire at the last minute."

Eponine laughed as she helped Musichetta stash away the dress. "I never can imagine why someone could come up with such a silly idea. It only makes people so late." She quickly donned her work dress again, but this time removed the pins that held her hair back from her face. "If you don't mind having some stew, there's some downstairs still," she told her friend.

"Patrice promised me dinner at the Cafe Bon Vivant tonight," Musichetta said. "They have a superb new chef there, so I hear. You should go by that place again."

"Maybe some time soon," Eponine remarked as she showed Musichetta to the front door. She glanced in the direction of the street corner and saw that Enjolras was already there, talking with some of the more incorrigible journalists; the majority of the throng had already cleared out. ' _They're worse than Grantaire's vultures; they're leeches,'_ she thought as she hurried towards the corner. Before she could get there, the conversation had been concluded; the last of the correspondents was slinking away and Enjolras was now walking in the direction of the tenement.

He caught her gaze first and smiled by way of greeting when they met halfway down the street. "I heard you sent them away from the doorstep," he said with wry amusement as he took her hand.

"They were blocking the way and they even bothered the boys and Citizenness Leclair," Eponine informed him, pulling him to the alley near the tenement. Inasmuch as she knew it would be better to discuss this indoors at home, she didn't want this matter to be brought up around her brothers' hearing. "I s'pose you didn't like their questions much either," she pointed out once they were alone.

"Downright impertinent queries," Enjolras replied. "They said you were formidable."

She raised an eyebrow as she began to rub his shoulders idly, feeling how tense he still was from his terse discussion. "They would have waited all night if you hadn't shown up. It's probably good for them that you didn't have a late evening at the Hotel de Ville."

Enjolras smirked at this joke before relaxing a little into her touch. "I made it clear that they are not to importune either of us with queries at this hour; there are more official places for interviews."

"The Hotel de Ville for you, and I s'pose the Rue des Macons for me, or someplace else where they can actually talk," Eponine remarked. "It's not too rude, is it?"

"I do not think so. One must have rules for these matters, in order to keep things somewhat orderly and avoid clandestine communications," he replied.

Eponine laughed at this formal answer. "How did the rest of your day go?"

"A few too many meetings, but that is to be expected given the big mid-year assembly," Enjolras said. "There is still debate as to when the next readings and voting will be."

"Isn't that normally on a Friday?"

"Usually, but the question is as to which Friday in the next few weeks. It may seem some people are deliberately creating delays for some petitions while expediting others."

"Aren't there rules about that?"

"Yes, but all too easily subverted."

Eponine sighed sympathetically as she squeezed his shoulder. "Something nicer then. Did you hear that Cosette and Marius have a son?"

Enjolras nodded. "I might have time to visit tomorrow. Have you been there already?"

"I went after work," Eponine said. She cocked her head when she realized that Enjolras was looking at her intently. "Is something wrong, Antoine?"

"No." Even in the dark it was evident that his cheeks had reddened a little bit. "You don't usually wear your hair down outside the house."

Eponine smiled widely at this barely disguised compliment. "Maybe I should if I know you're going to be there, since I know how you like it," she said before kissing him.

"That will not be necessary," Enjolras retorted before bringing his hand to the back of her neck, lightly running his fingers down to the collar of her dress before leaning in to kiss her back.

This bold gesture nearly made Eponine gasp with surprise, at least till she was lost in the feel of his hot mouth on hers as well as in the ardency of his grip on her waist. She draped her arms around his neck to bring him closer, and so she could also begin running her hands through his hair to encourage him. Enjolras pulled away for a moment to look her in the eyes, making her shiver before he kissed her gently, first on her brow, then the tip of her nose, and then on the side of her mouth. She could feel heat pooling in her stomach at this intimate gesture, prompting her to press a kiss on his jaw before unbuttoning his coat and then beginning to undo his cravat. "How tightly do you have to tie this every day?" she asked as she tried to work the knot loose.

"Enough to avoid mishaps," Enjolras replied, taking her hands to kiss her fingers, smiling when he heard her breath catch. "The point is moot though when you're around."

"And every day at breakfast," Eponine laughed, pressing herself against him and standing on tiptoe so that their foreheads were touching. She sighed as she felt his hands close around her waist. "Maybe we should get back inside before Gavroche decides to eat your share of dinner too."

Enjolras chuckled before suddenly the sound of a carriage stopping near the alley, followed by the murmur of some voices caught his attention. "We should think of how to greet my parents first; they've just arrived," he said in an undertone.

Eponine sneaked a glance over Enjolras' shoulder and saw three shadows talking at the tenement doorstep. Nevertheless the sound of Provencal accents was unmistakable, and she had to bite her lip hard to stifle her laughter. "What will they say if they catch us like this?" she asked as she stepped away from him so she could put her clothes and hair in some order.

"I am not sure if they will be angry or dare I say it, relieved," Enjolras replied as he tied his cravat and then buttoned up his coat. He risked a glance at the entrance of the alley. "Are you ready?"

"Is there any other way to be?" Eponine asked candidly. She slipped her hand in his as they walked back out to the tenement entrance. She had to keep a straight face when she realized that Louis and Monique were not in travelling attire, but the pair was dressed as if to go to dinner. ' _Probably they have to call on someone else too,'_ the thought occurred to her. She glanced at Enjolras, who signalled for her to stay quiet as they walked up to about a few meters from where his parents were conversing with Citizenness Leclair, who had apparently not noted their presence either.

Enjolras cleared his throat. "Good evening Father. Good evening Mother," he greeted calmly.

Monique's jaw dropped and her eyes went very round as she turned about and caught sight of the younger pair. "You two! How long have you been standing there?" she exclaimed, astonished at being caught off guard.

"I s'pose only a moment or two-" Eponine trailed off before laughing as she saw Monique rush to hug Enjolras, who ended up grunting with surprise as the wind was nearly knocked out of him. A second later she found herself also pulled into this enthusiastic though slightly awkward embrace, much to the laughter of the rest of the onlookers.

"Monique, I know you missed them but that is effusive even for you," Louis joked after a few moments.

"How often do you get to see your son and your daughter-in-law?" Monique retorted as she stepped away to adopt a more dignified attitude. "I know I should be speaking in the future tense, but it may as well be the present now," she added.

Eponine was sure that her cheeks had gone scarlet at these words. "How long have you been in Paris?" she managed to say.

"About three hours," Louis said merrily. "We have to visit some friends, but we decided that it would be best to see you two first."

"Now don't bore them with our business, Louis! Antoine, Eponine, let me have a good look at the two of you," Monique said. She smiled warmly at her son after a few moments. "I never thought that being a legislator would suit you so well, Antoine; you were always so active even when you began to read a lot. Then again, you've never lacked for excitement over these past few weeks."

"A very interesting way to put it," Enjolras said dryly.

"You were never born to stay idle," Monique pointed out before looking over Eponine. "If Antoine wasn't in love with you already when I last saw you, I'm sure he would be by now. It's not just about how pretty you've grown, my dear."

"Thank you, I s'pose," Eponine replied a little embarrassedly. Even after all this time she was not sure how to take such high praise, especially from a woman who she perceived to be above her in many ways, regardless if she was a friend or almost family. "Thank you also for replying to my letters."

"Rather, I should thank you for writing them," Monique said.

Louis looked at Enjolras. "Have you already found a place to move to?"

"Yes, a house at the Rue Guisarde, not far from here," Enjolras replied.

Louis nodded approvingly. "Tell me more about it tomorrow; your mother and I have to be elsewhere in half an hour." He grinned at the engaged pair. "You probably can guess I hate coming to town; Monique hates my lack of being sociable. Perhaps you two will be the ones to help me break that old rule of mine; that is the only way I can think of to keep up with everything you're doing here."


	77. Chapter 77: Farewell to Idyll

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: No one does pre-wedding jitters like Enjolras does. Segue to the wedding next chapter.

**Chapter 77: Farewell to Idyll**

The earliest days of August saw a great deal of activity in the area of the Rue Guisarde, in the neighbourhood of the Marche St. Germain. This flurry was centered on a certain house that was half-hidden from the street by a lofty acacia tree. A few rosebushes grew to the opposite side of the yard and formed a graceful line nearest the fence. There was no separate carriage gate, but only a simple iron one that opened to a gravel strewn path leading to the simple threshold: a large door embellished with a knocker in the shape of two great bells meant to clash together, and an awning supported by two graceful columns in the Delphic style. The house itself was what some people would have called 'slightly worn' mainly owing to the fact that the bricks were old and chipped in some places but on the whole it was a sound structure that promised much warmth in the winter. The shingles on the roof were of an elegant dark gray that went very well with the windows, which featured weather beaten shutters and light blue drapes.

This dwelling, still known to most as simply Number 9 on the Rue Guisarde, was now a house that five young people were already happy to call their home, even if they had yet to properly occupy the premises. It was no surprise that the early evening of the third of August saw four out of the five new tenants making a quick tour of the place, in preparation for finally moving in.

"Are you sure that all three of you will share the same room? There are three unoccupied rooms, so that means each of you can have a room of your own," Enjolras asked Gavroche, Neville, and Jacques as they went downstairs after making a quick tour of the second storey.

"It helps the  _momes_  sleep better, especially Jacques," Gavroche said with a nod, jerking his thumb towards his brothers.

"Jacques is still afraid of the dark," Neville teased his younger brother.

"Am not," Jacques said, crossing his arms. "You hide under the blankets when there's thunder!"

"I have to cover my ears!" Neville retorted.

"That is enough you two," Enjolras said sternly, all too aware by now of how the Thenardier boys' fights usually started. Fortunately this warning was enough; Neville sighed contritely while Jacques settled for merely scowling at his older siblings. He waited for a moment for the children to fall silent before he spoke again. "It's settled; we'll move all of your things here on Monday, most likely in the afternoon. Now unless there are other things you boys want to see, we'd better head back to the Rue Jean Jacques Rousseau for dinner."

"Everything is set up in the kitchen and the rest of the first floor, so why can't we eat here tonight?" Neville asked.

"There's nothing yet in the cupboards," Enjolras pointed out. "Anyway luncheon is going to be here tomorrow; you already know this."

Jacques scratched his head. "After Monday, we'll get to always stay here?"

"Yes, but it is up to you if you want to live elsewhere on your own, when you're older," Enjolras replied. "That is a good many years away."

Jacques nodded slowly. "What will you do with the other rooms?"

"Those will be for when Ponine and Enjolras will have kids too someday," Neville said smugly.

Jacques scowled at this thought. "Why do you want that? You already have us," he asked Enjolras.

"We'll discuss that some other time," Enjolras said quickly, only to elicit a round of snickering from Gavroche and Neville, as well as yet another quizzical look from Jacques. "Whether that happens or not, Eponine and I will still take care of the three of you."

Jacques nodded again, but this time his expression was one of pure relief. "Even if sometimes we fight and get too noisy?"

"Of course," Enjolras said as he ruffled Jacques' hair.

Jacques smiled more widely and hugged Enjolras' legs before racing with his brothers out of the house. The sounds of the Thenardier children's chatter suddenly sounded so new and even a little disconcerting to Enjolras, perhaps for the fact that he was hearing all of this in a new place. ' _Another new thing I was never counting on,'_ he mused as he made one last survey of the front room to make sure that he or the boys did not forget anything before he stepped out and locked up the house for the night.

Despite the still rather oppressive summer heat, Enjolras had to fight the temptation to roll up his sleeves and loosen his cravat, even if those were exactly Gavroche, Neville, and Jacques did before scampering much of the way back to the Rue Jean Jacques Rousseau. When they arrived there, they found that the tenement door had been left open in an attempt to dispel the heaviness of the air. The boys lost no time in racing to the kitchen to pester Citizenness Leclair for their meal; the concierge had offered to take over cooking dinner in order to allow Eponine and Enjolras to spend the rest of the evening making any last minute preparations for the next day.

For Enjolras' part, this involved packing up his personal effects to move to the Rue Guisarde the next day. Before seeing to this, he looked through his pocketbook, where he had jotted down the schedules of the upcoming hearings and voting sessions concerning the various petitions still pending in the assembly; as of this day there were seven bills to be deliberated upon by the Parisian legislature. ' _Ironically the one that is always hindered is the one drafted in this very city,'_ he noted, observing that the petition drafted by Eponine and the other ladies was still the last on the agenda, being slated for a vote in the middle of the month.

He took off his coat and his cravat before he set about to emptying his closet, leaving only one outfit for the morning. After this he folded his clothes such that they would fit in one of the large carpet-bags he'd acquired a few days ago. At length he heard the familiar cadence of Eponine's footsteps approaching the doorway of his room. "Do you need help with anything?" he asked, looking over his shoulder at her.

"I s'pose not; I'm through seeing to my own things, and I shouldn't have trouble with what the boys have," Eponine replied as she entered the room, squeezing his shoulder as she stood next to him. She was wearing her old gray workdress and had tied back her hair with a length of linen. Her face was covered with a sheen of sweat, owing to the weather as well as the fact that she'd been thoroughly cleaning out her apartment. "Did they behave themselves?"

"Yes, and picked out a bedroom already. Very astute of them," Enjolras replied, quickly averting his eyes. Just looking at her, even in her slightly dishevelled state, was enough to make his mouth go dry. He found that he had to muster a little more self-control than usual in order not to reach for her and kiss her senseless.

"Oh, and which one did they like?"

"The one on the furthest end of the hallway from our room," Enjolras said as he placed one last shirt in the carpetbag and tied it shut.

Eponine snorted. "So when Jacques gets nightmares, it will now be up to Gavroche to deal with him."

"That is, if Neville is not up reading the whole night."

"I wonder who he learned that from," she teased. She wiped her face with her sleeve and frowned at the dust streaks that came away. "You know what I heard today?"

"Yet another rumor?"

"Yes, and the silliest yet; that tomorrow is only a show and that we're already secretly married."

Enjolras smirked at the absurdity of this matter even as he absent-mindedly reached out to wipe away a smudge of dirt from Eponine's brow. "A marriage is a public acknowledgment as much as it is a legal matter with contracts and duties. By their very nature almost all legal matters are public affairs and therefore not meant to be concealed. In a certain sense then, a secret marriage is a contradiction."

Her eyes widened at this insight. "I never pictured it that way."

"Most people overlook that aspect, or at least it is not given too much emphasis," he said.

Eponine smiled at this matter of fact comment as she began to run her hands through his hair. "I think things like that sound better when you're the one saying them," she said.

He caught her hand and kissed it before turning so that he was facing her properly. He saw Eponine's lips quirk upwards knowingly as she slipped her arms around his shoulders, mere moments before several sets of footsteps sounded in the passage and someone threw the door open.

"There, I knew I'd find you both here," Therese said triumphantly as she stood with her hands akimbo. "Enjolras, you'd better step out of the house; it's time for Eponine to try on her wedding dress."

Enjolras gritted his teeth with frustration. "Is vacating the  _house_  necessary?"

"There's going to be fitting even for the boys and for some of the other ladies here. I'm sorry Antoine, but you'll only be in the way," Monique chimed in from the hallway. "Besides you need to stay with your father; he's waiting downstairs. He wants to speak with you."

Enjolras raised an eyebrow, knowing this was their way of employing the old custom of not allowing a bridegroom to see his fiancée in her wedding attire until the wedding day itself. "I am not quite finished yet with what I have to do here," he said querulously as he gestured to his desk, which was still littered with some of his books and papers.

Monique sighed resignedly. "You have two minutes," she said before pulling Therese out of the room.

Enjolras rolled his eyes at the chorus of feminine laughter from the other side of the door. "All this trouble for a mere superstition," he groused as he began clearing the desk. "The point is already moot since we've been living under the same roof for months now."

"It's all a little fun, Antoine, and besides I think you'll like this in the end. You'll see tomorrow," Eponine said as she placed some of his books in a second carpet bag.

' _She's probably done something with the dress,'_ he realized but he decided to keep this thought to himself. "I still think this is absolutely unnecessary."

She shrugged before bending to pick up his pocketbook, which had fallen to the floor. "The voting on the petition will be towards the end of the month?" she asked disappointedly as she glanced at the page it had fallen open to.

"Unfortunately that is the case, regardless of all clamors to proceed to the contrary."

"I s'pose it is better than it not being decided on at all and anyway this will give us some more time to discuss it with the other deputies."

"That being an unlooked for advantage in this situation," Enjolras said, taking the pocketbook back from her and packing it with the rest of his belongings.

Eponine nodded as she helped him tie up the carpetbag. "Then on to other matters then like schools Claudine is so excited about it, and so am I."

"That may very well be a long question, one spanning years to answer properly."

"We do have a lot of time for it, I hope?"

"Nevertheless we must not delay," Enjolras said, smiling at this turn in the discussion. "It's something that has to be addressed to allow Progress to continue."

"I s'pose it is also to let everyone have a fairer chance at it."

"It happens to be part of the picture, Eponine."

She laughed as she checked the knot in the carpetbag. "I s'pose we'll talk about it later then?"

"You mean tomorrow?" Enjolras asked.

She shrugged. "It's still some sort of 'later' isn't it?"

"In a sense," he replied before giving her a light kiss.

Eponine scowled disappointedly at this gesture and she smacked his shoulder lightly. "Why must you be so proper now?"

"You  _know_  why we have to be."

"Then I s'pose I should tell you that I may as well be counting the hours."

He nodded, knowing that there would come a point wherein he'd be doing the same thing. "I'll see you in the morning," he said, allowing himself a moment to brush her hair out of her face before letting them both out of the room. Much to his mortification he saw that his mother was still waiting in the hallway, along with Azelma, Therese, Claudine, Musichetta, Leonor, Nicholine, and even Simone.

"That took you _three_  minutes," Leonor chided.

Eponine rolled her eyes. "Does it matter when we'll be spending the rest of tonight fussing about everyone's dresses?" she said before fishing in her pocket for the keys to her own apartment.

"We should be done in about two hours or so; you won't have to sleep downstairs tonight," Claudine reassured Enjolras.

"Thank you for that," Enjolras said cordially. It was all he could do to walk downstairs with some semblance of dignity, despite knowing that much of the humor for the rest of this evening would certainly be at his expense.

He found his father crouched on the kitchen floor, showing the Thenardier boys how to improve on their usual game of marbles. "Now finally I can teach someone these tricks," Louis said when he noticed his own son. "You were always more interested in books, Antoine."

"I figured there was only so much one could do with marbles," Enjolras pointed out as he crouched next to where Neville was about to flick a marble. He saw that the boy had aimed the smooth globe so that it would bounce off another, which would then cause the rest of the marbles to ricochet against each other, one after the other. "What did you want to discuss?"

"Some things you ought to know before commencing your marriage," Louis said nonchalantly as he got to his feet and then found two chairs for himself and for his son. "Not about the wedding night; I gather your friends would have instructed you about that and Combeferre would have made sure it was done in a sensible fashion," he added on seeing how Enjolras had turned bright red.

The younger man sighed with relief, more so since his father had hit upon the truth of the matter; he had indeed asked Combeferre about it just the night before. "Then is it something to do with the general conduct of things?"

Louis gave his son a serious look. "You and Eponine are somewhat, shall I say, private persons, but very much in the public eye by choice. I only hope that this never ending storm will not change how the two of you regard each other, or even how you act around each other."

"In what sense?"

"I am sure you've noticed how it is expected that after a certain period of time, many couples become more perfunctory in their manners, to the point wherein lack of affection almost becomes the course and marriage soon becomes a duty and a tie as opposed to what it ought to be. You have to take care not to fall into that trap even if others do."

Enjolras raised an eyebrow. "Why are you warning me of this?"

"I know you two have proud characters; it shows differently but there's pride all the same. It sometimes serves you both well but you must not let that quality overcome honesty and earnestness," Louis said. He smiled at the sound of chatter from upstairs. "Your mother and I have been happy together for thirty-three years because we are most plain-spoken around each other. There is no reason to feign a polite distance. I am not saying that you two have license to be indecorous, but you must not veer towards the opposite extreme either."

It took a moment till Enjolras understood what his father was talking about. "I believe that we will manage in our own way."

Louis nodded as he lifted his feet to let the Thenardiers' cat walk past them. "I understand you will still allow Eponine to continue with her occupation? It will be impossible for you to rely only on your compensation for your legislative work."

"Of course. I suspect that even if I could give her the option not to work, she would still wish to be employed anyway," Enjolras said.

"What of her political involvement?"

"Will be as she chooses it to be; it is not my place to insist on the position or the manner or even the matter of it."

Louis whistled worriedly. "As her husband you would be within your rights to control her. People, especially your colleagues, would be expecting you to keep her in check and turn her docile. "

"I would not do such a thing to anyone, least of all to her," Enjolras pointed out tersely.

"I am not saying you would or that you even  _should_ , heaven forbid it since it is clear that one of the reasons you love her is that she can stand her ground against you. You aren't afraid either of what people will say to it," Louis said with a knowing smile. "I'm glad I've brought you up well enough such that you know how to properly handle opinions and censure, whether founded or unfounded."

It was at that moment that the front door swung open to admit a raucous chorus of voices. "It's the bachelor's farewell!" Gavroche laughed as he looked up at Grantaire, Bossuet, and Bahorel.

Enjolras shook his head when he saw the large bottles that his friends had brought with them. "I'm not drinking any of that."

"Come now, there is nothing wrong with a little liquid courage when one is entering a struggle that is more protracted than any barricade," Bossuet said gleefully as he set down the bottles on the table.

"If it is a struggle then sobriety is required, not the fumes of alcohol," Enjolras retorted. He examined the bottle nearest him and shook his head on seeing the tampered seal near the neck. "Though next time you would do well to better disguise the fact that you filled these bottles with water instead."

Bahorel cuffed his friends. "I told you he would figure it out even if he doesn't drink. He's dealt with us long enough."

Louis failed to hold back a loud guffaw at this scene. "Antoine, you should still remember that this is a night for revelry. It was always that way back in Aix."

"Tomorrow morning before the mayor's office and the church will be another story," Enjolras said, remembering all too well a few mishaps involving intoxicated relatives during such solemn occasions. He sighed when he saw Combeferre and Prouvaire entering the kitchen. "You too?"

Combeferre smiled mirthfully. "Enjolras, this is the eve of a wedding, not the Ides of March."

"It may as well be the Ides of March; it is the end of a particular state," Grantaire pointed out as he set aside the bottles, sounding cheery despite the fact that his prank had been foiled.

"But not a sorry end this time around," Prouvaire chimed in.

"Says the one who enjoys Racine and other tragedies," Bossuet said.

"To read about but not necessarily to take a part in," Prouvaire quipped, righting one of the bottles of water before they could spill. "But after everything I've seen so far, I would have to say that tragedy is rather easier to write than comedy; there are too few happy nights like this that can adequately inspire the latter form of drama."


	78. Chapter 78: The Finest Day of Summer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 4 more chapters after this one.

**Chapter 78: The Finest Day of Summer**

"You already know that this is going to cause quite the stir in the next edition of  _Le Follet."_

"Are you talking about the dress or the fact I'm wearing boots under it?"

Musichetta's eyebrows shot up querulously as she set down the curling tongs, taking care to keep them away from her deep blue dress. "Ponine that second part had better be a joke. After all the effort I've put in the dress..."

"I was only having a bit of fun, Chetta, don't you worry about it!" Eponine said, giggling as she stuck out her right foot to show her red satin slipper. "I wouldn't wear such things on this day. Not when I'd like to feel a bit nicer than usual," she added more softly as she smoothed down her skirt.

"You already are," Cosette chimed in as she stepped out from a corner, where she had just been nursing little Georges. She smiled sympathetically as she sat by Eponine, who was now fidgeting with the hairpins that kept her delicate lace veil in place. "It's perfectly fine to be nervous, Ponine. It is a big day."

"I simply cannot believe that all of  _this_  is happening," Eponine whispered. She took a deep breath, if only to try to get rid of the feeling of her heart hammering hard against her chest. "You remember I was at your wedding, Cosette. That was about ten months ago and everything was so, so different then. I sometimes wonder if I am just dreaming it all and I'm back on the streets again. This is almost too much like the ending of a fairy story."

Cosette nodded as she adjusted her hold on Georges, who was beginning to fall asleep. She paused to wipe off some drool from her baby's face before it could drip all over the front of her pink gown. "For you and Enjolras, it probably is more like the beginning of another adventure."

Eponine smiled to herself as she recalled her conversation with Enjolras right before they had parted ways for the evening. "I s'pose so; it takes more than one person to do even half the things we want to do. I can only wonder about the things we both can't imagine yet," she said as she pulled on a pair of white satin gloves.

A knock sounded on the apartment door, which creaked open to reveal Azelma and Claudine. Both of them were dressed in the same shade of lavender, though Claudine had added black mourning bands to the cuffs and the hem of her dress. "You were right, she wasn't going to wear her hair down even if my brother likes it a lot," Azelma said to Claudine.

"It's far too hot, and to think it's not even midmorning yet," Claudine pointed out.

"I think it would look messy after a while," Eponine said to the newcomers. "Everyone is there already?" she asked.

"We're ready when you're ready," Claudine said. "Do you still need a few more minutes?"

"Maybe two or three," Eponine quipped as she got to her feet. She shut her eyes as she went to stand in front of the large mirror that her friends had brought up to the apartment the night before; although she knew that her reflection would not be completely strange to her, there was still a certain sense of finality and certainty about this particular moment.

Before she could open her eyes she heard a hurried set of footsteps hurrying up to the room. "I  _told_  you she was going to wear red!" Jacques crowed.

"Shhh, the others aren't supposed to know that yet!" Neville said, trying to cover Jacques' mouth.

Jacques scowled as he evaded Neville and ran to stand in front of his sister. "Ponine you're the prettiest lady ever!" he exclaimed, jumping up and down restlessly.

Eponine laughed as she turned to look at her brothers. "Thank you. The two of you  _are_  such gentlemen today," she said, noticing that they had managed to keep their clothes clean and even get their cravats tied without much apparent fuss.

Neville rolled his eyes at the compliment while Jacques blushed. "Why do you and Enjolras get to stay at the Rue Guisarde tonight, but we and Gavroche have to stay here?" Jacques asked.

"Jacques, must you ask that?" Azelma said, trying hard not to burst out laughing. "You'll understand better when you're older."

"I s'pose that's the best way to say it; wait till you get married yourself someday," Eponine said, only to end up earning a grimace from her youngest brother. "But tomorrow afternoon, you'll get to stay with us at the new house."

Jacques nodded trustingly. "Always?"

Eponine smiled before hugging him tightly. "You're my brother. I'll always take care of you, Neville, even Gavroche and Azelma," she promised, letting go of him to straighten out his coat. "That's never, ever going to change."

Neville tapped his good foot restlessly. "Ponine I have to say sorry for something," he said in a small voice. "Remember when that lancer fellow came here asking about the letter you wrote him? I helped Musichetta tell him to go away."

Eponine's eyes widened at this confession. "Chetta, did he really?"

Musichetta reddened and cringed for a moment. "He was quite...strong about it. I figured that day wasn't the time to implicate Neville in it."

"Why did you do it?" Azelma asked Neville.

Neville scratched his head sheepishly. "That lancer was always too loud and he didn't like us very much. Also it's because Enjolras really doesn't like Theodule, and I was thinking you didn't like Theodule that much either, but you sounded so angry when you came home."

Everyone in the room burst out laughing. "I must say that was one of the best things you could  _ever_ do," Claudine said to Neville.

"I'm not angry about it anymore, Neville. It's good that you and Chetta did it," Eponine reassured her brother. "You both knew better than I did what to do then, and he didn't like me that much anyway to ever come calling after."

Neville cracked a smile and smoothed out his cravat. "I told Enjolras about it last week and he told me I should be the one to tell you someday."

Jacques jumped up and down again. "Can we tell Enjolras about your dress yet?" he asked Eponine.

"No, that's going to be a surprise. Don't you dare say a thing," Eponine admonished. Still, judging from her youngest brother's overly gleeful look as he and Neville left the room; it would be very easy for just anyone to guess the matter. "I s'pose this will do?" she asked the other ladies.

"Here, let me help you with your veil," Claudine said, picking up a hairpin that had gotten askew. "Now you can look in the mirror again. Your brother is right. You look so lovely; it will be a wonder if Enjolras doesn't trip over himself during the ceremony."

"That would be a first," Eponine quipped as she finally got a good look in the mirror. She had pinned up her hair in an elegant knot at the back of her head, but she had allowed a few strands to hang loose in curls that framed her face. This upsweep was highlighted only by a single lily tucked into her hair. Her wedding dress was all in bright red silk, accented by a maroon satin ribbon around her waist. The dress' neckline showed off the slope of her shoulders but stopped at her collarbones, in contrast to the latest fashion which required the dress to be almost off the wearer's shoulder. The sleeves puffed out at her shoulders but flowed to taper smoothly at her wrists. Delicate embroidery in the shape of scrolls and roses ran along the skirt of her gown. Although she did not wear any jewellery, Eponine still felt radiant. ' _Not entirely fashionable, but I do feel beautiful in it,'_ she realized, smiling at her reflection. She could only wonder what would Enjolras think when he finally saw her.

In her reverie she almost did not notice that everyone else except for Claudine had already quit the room. "That wasn't three minutes, was it?" she asked her friend.

"Maybe half of that time," Claudine laughed. "Come on, let's go. We're supposed to be at the mayor's office by eight."

Eponine bit her lip with sheer trepidation as she followed her friend out of the apartment and down the stairs, towards the hubbub of excited talk in the front room. She only had to descend the first few steps before she could see what everyone else was up to. She noticed that Nicholine and Leonor, as well as Marius, Prouvaire, Courfeyrac, and Joly, were fussing over Cosette and Georges. The rest of the group was still drinking coffee or making lively conversation.

As for Enjolras, he was in the middle of some sort of discussion with Gavroche, Neville, and Jacques. Eponine paused for a moment, if only to fully take in the sight of him. He was, of course, nothing short of elegant in his best tailcoat, trousers, and hat, but on closer inspection Eponine saw that Enjolras had chosen a dark red waistcoat in lieu of his more sober ones. This unexpected gesture was enough to have her grinning from ear to ear even as she stepped towards him.

It was then that Enjolras turned to look at her, apparently heedless of the cheers and catcalls of the rest of the group. For a fleeting moment his expression was one of wonder before it quickly changed into that teasing yet warm smile he usually had when they were sharing a private joke. "No wonder you were so secretive last night," he remarked dryly as he closed the distance between them.

Eponine laughed, if only to resist the urge to run her hands through his hair or even kiss him for such a blasé quip."I s'pose you knew somehow?" she asked, gesturing to his red waistcoat.

"To be more the point, I guessed," Enjolras admitted. "I'm glad I can finally see you this way."

Eponine felt her toes curl in her slippers even as heat rose to her cheeks; judging by the laughter around her, this last fact was not lost even behind her veil. It was all she could do to keep a straight face as she, Azelma, Claudine, and Jean Valjean boarded a carriage; Jean Valjean was accompanying them owing to his standing in for Thenardier at the ceremony. Enjolras, his parents, and Combeferre were to follow in a second carriage, while the rest of the guests would rendezvous with the wedding party at the church of Saint-Sulpice.

It was a bright but quiet Sunday for a wedding; owing to the relatively early hour there were few people on the streets, allowing for an easy journey to the mayor's office. The magistrate who met them there eyed them curiously. "A bride in a red dress, a bridegroom in a red waistcoat-so perfectly radical. So much for all the talk that this will be a sort of left hand marriage."

Enjolras raised an eyebrow at this archaic notion. "Such things are not legally recognized especially in this present Republic."

"Tell that to those who predict a dispute between you two within a year," the magistrate said. He gave Eponine a pointed look. "Citizenness, are you sure that you are entering this marriage out of your own free will, and not out of any...hastening circumstances?"

"Yes, and we have nothing of that sort to worry about," Eponine replied briskly to this jibe.

The magistrate nodded with relief. "I'd hate to officiate an unhappy matrimony. Come on; let's get the two of you married before the morning gets too old for merriment."

After this, the proceedings here were unhurried but brief; by nine in the morning the vows were said, the registers were signed, and the wedding party was on its way to the Place Saint-Sulpice. In the span of less than sixty minutes the situation on the streets had changed drastically; now there were onlookers clambering all over themselves to watch the procession. Pedestrians stopped on the curb, carriages paused for a moment or two to allow their occupants to lean out the windows, and a good many well wishers and hecklers endeavoured to get closer to the carriages.

At the Marche St. Germain, Eponine saw little Navet racing up with a hastily put together nosegay of roses. "To wish you well, Citizenness," he said as he handed up the bouquet to Eponine.

"Oh where did this come from?" Eponine asked.

Navet pointed to a group of children waving to her; Eponine recognized some of them as her siblings' classmates or from the neighbourhood of the Rue Jean Jacques Rousseau. "Roses for a rose, so they say!" he replied cheerily before jumping back into the throng.

Azelma was astounded at this scene while Jean Valjean and Claudine laughed. "It was only something the newspaper men used to say," Eponine explained bemusedly. "It's a funny thing they thought of, but maybe it fits since roses are so common."

"Maybe it's because of your hair," Claudine said. "That, and because you have worn red at a number of important occasions."

"Perhaps because a rose only  _seems_  fragile," Jean Valjean said pensively. "It is a hardy bloom but nonetheless one very dear."

Eponine smiled as she set down the nosegay; whatever the reason was behind the gesture, she could feel nothing but appreciation for it. From here on the procession inched along slowly such that it was nearly ten in the morning by the time the party arrived at the Place Saint-Sulpice. By this time everyone who had been at the Rue Jean Jacques Rousseau earlier that morning was already waiting at the church. Courfeyrac had somehow gone to his lodgings in order to bring little Armand with him to the ceremony. Also there were Citizenness Leclair, Odette and Emile Stendhal, Coutard, Bamatabois, Rossi, Jeanne, Mathieu, Allyce, Simone, as well as various friends and acquaintances from work and political groups.

The excitement here was almost palpable, more so when Eponine, accompanied by Jean Valjean, finally walked down the aisle. For a moment Eponine dearly wished that she did not have to wear a veil according to custom, if only to see where she was actually putting her feet or to take a proper look at the young man waiting for her at the end of the aisle. She could hear the surprised and pleased murmurs of some members of the congregation as well as the cloying clouds of incense hanging about in the air; in fact after a while some of the older guests began to cough while little Armand whimpered and fussed. Before she knew it, Eponine found herself at the end of the aisle, where she finally heard the officiating priest ask who was giving the bride away. Jean Valjean then made his reply before guiding Eponine's right hand to Enjolras' own waiting palm.

"Thank you," Eponine whispered, just loud enough for Jean Valjean to hear.

Jean Valjean smiled at Eponine and Enjolras. "May God bless you both," he said before going to sit with Marius, Cosette, and little Georges.

Eponine felt Enjolras' hand let go of hers, just so he could lift away her veil. She couldn't help but meet his awestruck look with a cheeky grin of her own. "Finally!" she mouthed.

"An understatement," he said with a bemused smile as he took her right hand again, just before the organist started up the hymn to officially begin the marriage ceremony.

At length, after the readings and a mercifully brief homily, it was finally time for the couple to exchange their vows. Suddenly Eponine felt as if her mouth had gone dry; for a moment she feared she would not be able to speak when her turn came. ' _What if I end up saying something silly?'_ she thought even as she could hear the congregation getting to its feet to witness the rites. Somewhere she could hear people stifling sobs or blowing their noses; out of the corner of her eye she even saw Cosette dabbing at her eyes with Marius' handkerchief. Azelma was little better off; she was squeezing Prouvaire's arm as if for dear life, while the poet himself was already blowing his nose. Gavroche was standing on tiptoe while Neville and Jacques had already clambered onto the pew.

The priest rubbed his spectacles before looking at Enjolras. "Do you, Antoine Enjolras, take Eponine Thenardier to be your lawfully wedded wife? Do you promise to be true to her in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health, to love and honor her all the days of your life?"

Enjolras looked at Eponine for one long moment; the love and warmth in his eyes were unmistakable and fierce enough to dispel the last of Eponine's lingering fears. "I do," he said clearly, his voice strong with conviction.

The priest nodded approvingly. "And do you, Eponine Thenardier, take Antoine Enjolras to be your lawfully wedded husband? Do you promise to be true to him in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health, to love and honor him all the days of your life?"

Eponine took a deep breath as she looked at Enjolras and held his hand more tightly. "I do," she said, feeling only sheer joy.

The rest of the ceremony was almost a whirl; the rings were exchanged, the blessings given, and the remainder of the rite carried out in proper order till the priest finally pronounced the pair as husband and wife. Eponine lost no time in pulling Enjolras close before he kissed her gently. In those brief moments Eponine could have sworn that she was on fire, for simply feeling the ardency of his lips on hers, conveying everything she wanted to hear but he knew better than to put into words.

In a few minutes they were in the sacristy to sign the marriage register; here for the very last time Eponine wrote down her name as ' _Eponine Thenardier'._ "I can't believe I shan't sign my name that way ever again," she remarked as she handed the pen to her husband.

"I never thought you'd prefer alliteration instead," Enjolras quipped dryly.

"You two are impossible," Combeferre laughed before he set down his name as one of the witnesses to the ceremony. The physician looked curiously towards the church doors, where even more people were gathered in addition to the wedding guests. "So much for a quiet day, that looks to be a quarter of the Latin Quartier waiting outside."

"It's going to be quite a walk to the Rue Guisarde; five minutes may as well take twenty," Enjolras noted.

"I s'pose then it's good that there is no chance of rain today!" Eponine said before they made their way out of the church. Despite the fact it was noon and the sun was high in the sky, the place was now crowded with spectators and curious bystanders, some of whom had already taken to climbing on fences, posts, and even carriages in order to get a better look at what was going on. As soon as the newlyweds stepped past the doors, the crowd cheered and applauded heartily, much to the consternation of many passers-by in the Place Saint-Sulpice. Once it became evident to these as to who the pair was at the center of the commotion, a number of them rushed over for a better view or to convey their congratulations.

A quarter of an hour later, the newlyweds arrived at Number 9 Rue Guisarde. The door of the house was wide open and bedecked with simple streamers interspersed with flowers. Enjolras and Eponine crossed the threshold hand in hand, and were immediately greeted first by Louis, Monique, Azelma, Gavroche, Neville, and Jacques, and then by the rest of their friends. A hearty though relatively simple luncheon had been set up on the ground floor; there were only three courses instead of the usual lavish six or seven, and wine was served alongside sugar water. Nevertheless the celebration was abundant in laughter and anecdotes such that there was no need for music to banish any silences.

At some point in the afternoon, Combeferre stood up and set down his wineglass before addressing Enjolras and Eponine. "I am sure that all of us are aware that till recently, most of us here thought it would be  _impossible_  to gather for this particular celebration. Now all of us, and this is in a literal sense, would dearly like to make toasts to your health and happiness, but in the interest of time and sobriety, we have decided to draw lots for this particular honor." He nodded to Azelma. "Ladies first."

Azelma was pink in the face as she got to her feet and brought a folded paper out of her sleeve. She glanced nervously at Prouvaire, who gave her an encouraging smile. Azelma cleared her throat and began, "Years ago, when Ponine, Gavroche and I were still very little, my sister was already a story-teller. Even before we knew how to write she was always telling the most fantastic stories about princes, princesses, castles, and grand adventures. Whenever there would be couples celebrating like this in the inn, we would have a little game trying to make up the best story about how they met, what their wedding must have been like, and even how many children they would one day have."

Eponine nearly choked on her wine. "I cannot believe you actually remembered," she said as she wiped her mouth.

"Well I did, and Cosette does remember some parts too," Azelma said triumphantly. "Ponine, I know that because of everything that has happened over the years, you did have to forget the stories. Now though you have something that is much better than those tales. I know you never could have imagined living through a revolution, finding all our brothers again, or even writing the things you do now. I'm happy you get to do so many things and that you want to do so many more. I'm happy that you love a man who is braver and maybe even more handsome than the princes you used to dream about. I'm happy that this is your real life and not a story. To you, Enjolras, I may not always understand everything you do or say, but you're one of the best people I know. Thank you for  _everything_  you are to my sister and to my brothers—and by the way I'm happy that I can get to call you a brother from now on. I really hope you two will always be very happy together."

Eponine got out of her seat to hug her sister. "Thank you Zelma. Does this mean that when it's your turn soon, I have to make a speech too?"

"Maybe, unless we decide to draw lots again since Jehan has so many friends too, and they have stories to tell about him especially," Azelma replied. She nodded to Enjolras. "I am sure you never thought of having a younger sister."

"Especially in this particular fashion," Enjolras said candidly.

Prouvaire clapped Courfeyrac on the back. "It's your turn."

"Him and not Combeferre?" Rossi asked confusedly.

"I've already had plenty of opportunities to embarrass Enjolras over the years," Combeferre joked.

"Remember this is  _not_  the backroom of the Musain," Enjolras warned.

Courfeyrac laughed as he held up his glass of wine. "As some of you know, the day I met Enjolras is an unforgettable one. I was cast out from Blondeau's class that day and he was my unfortunate seatmate who also took the fall owing to pure proximity, but the memory is as clear as ever."

This time everyone burst out laughing, particularly the gentlemen in the group who'd ever studied at the law school. Eponine was giggling both with mirth and disbelief, especially when she noticed Enjolras' thoroughly mortified expression. "What was that about?" she asked when she could finally speak.

"Exactly what he said. I should have been in the front row of the hall that day," Enjolras muttered.

Eponine discreetly squeezed his arm. "I s'pose you have to agree that you chose the right seat after all."

Courfeyrac grinned before continuing, "That was seven years ago, and for six out of seven of those years, I was convinced that there was no one in Paris or in France who could be as stubborn and terrible, and at the same time be so brave, principled, loyal, or brilliant. Then this year, the seventh year of our becoming friends, changed my opinion entirely. It's all because of Eponine; a woman who defies all description and redefines the meaning of tenacity. Now I am convinced that there are no two other people  _in the world_  who are as frustrating, incomprehensible, earnest, and passionate in everything they do, as different and disparate as they are on most days. You two won the campaign earlier this year, and are now doing great things in and out of the legislature, and all the while still raising three young boys. I am looking forward to what you will do in the coming years. To two of my dearest friends, Enjolras and Eponine, I wish you all the health, happiness, and wonderful events that two extraordinary persons as you deserve."

Everyone applauded and cheered at the close of this speech, and a clamor was made for more wine to be passed around. This was accompanied by dessert, which was a whole platter piled high with various pastries. By evening though the very youngest persons at this celebration were already exhausted. Courfeyrac had to bring Armand back to his lodgings, while the Pontmercys and Jean Valjean soon took their leave because Georges was getting restless. In the meantime Neville and Jacques were already drowsily curled up on opposite ends of a settee; the older was dozing on top of a book while the younger had kicked off his shoes in his sleep.

"It's definitely back to the Rue Jean Jacques Rousseau now for those two," Combeferre said to Eponine and Enjolras. "There is a gift I still have for you since I did not want to leave it lying around," he said more convivially as he held out a small box.

Eponine's jaw dropped when she saw what Combeferre's present was: two identical pocket watches with gilt finishes and covers embossed with the date  _August 4, 1833._ "I have never owned anything like this. Thank you," she blurted out.

"Yes, but you need it. Enjolras on the other hand forgot to get a new one last year after his got smashed in a fight," Combeferre said. "Considering how busy you two always are, it is necessary to have every minute accounted for."

Enjolras clasped Combeferre's shoulder. "Thank you for this. I greatly appreciate it."

Combeferre smiled broadly before going off to speak with Claudine about some matter. In the meantime Neville had already woken up and was rubbing his eyes. "It's too noisy here," he said as he slid off the settee, nearly dropping the book he had with him.

Eponine caught the book and handed it back to him. "You'll get to sleep in a proper bed in a little while. This time you won't have to share; Jacques is staying in his own bed, while Gavroche is getting Enjolras' old bed."

Neville rubbed his eyes again. "Do we have to wake up so early again tomorrow?"

"I s'pose not since you're all on holiday. But you'd better have your things ready by afternoon so we won't have such a difficult time getting them here," Eponine said. "Now please behave and don't give Combeferre and Claudine a difficult time with looking out for you three."

The child nodded again before rushing off to pester Gavroche, who was about to tuck the last of the pastries in his coat pocket. Eponine now went over to where Enjolras was just waking up Jacques and helping him put on his shoes. "He's as good as out till tomorrow morning," she pointed out as she sat by the settee.

Jacques blinked up at her and Enjolras. "Not bedtime yet."

"Yes but you were up at the crack of dawn today, and that counts for something," Enjolras said as he picked up the child. "We'll see you tomorrow,  _petit_."

Jacques murmured something before immediately going to sleep with his head on Enjolras' shoulder. Eponine giggled at this sight before ruffling her brother's hair. "Antoine, do you have any idea how you look now?"she asked Enjolras as she straightened out his cuffs.

"This time I can imagine," he replied before awkwardly kissing the top of her head. "I'll see you in a few minutes," he said before going to find Combeferre to hand Jacques off to him.

Eponine now kicked off her own slippers, but before she could put her feet up on the settee, she realized that Monique and Louis were also looking for seats. "I s'pose that was unseemly with company," she said embarrassedly as she sat up straight.

"This is your home now, Eponine. You need not be so uptight," Monique said amiably.

"I'm sure you don't do such things when you have guests."

"You should come down to Aix as soon as you can, you'll have a different opinion of this then."

Eponine smiled, even though she already knew it would be a very long time before such a trip would be possible. "Thank you for everything. This was a very wonderful day."

"No, thank  _you_ ," Louis said. "I can see that Antoine is most happy when he is at his work. That isn't going to change. However it is far better for him when is with you."

"What he means to say is that you are very good for Antoine, and we all can see that he is doing his best to be good for you too," Monique explained. She patted Eponine's shoulder. "Do enjoy the rest of the evening. We won't call on you tomorrow since there's clearly much you and Antoine have to see to, but do drop by the old apartment once you can spare some time."

"I'll make sure we will," Eponine promised before getting up to see off her brothers as well as Combeferre and Claudine, who were just about to board a fiacre.

After this she saw Feuilly, Nicholine, Joly, and Musichetta trying to reason with Bahorel, Grantaire, Therese, and Bossuet; apparently the argument involved a chamberpot that someone had sneaked from upstairs and had filled with brandy. Eponine rolled her eyes, recognizing the prank that was afoot. "If it had been wine in a different glass, I s'pose I'd like it better," she said.

Feuilly punched Grantaire's arm. "I told you it was not going to work. They'd catch on in a minute."

"And spoil all the fun?" Grantaire protested. He wiggled his eyebrows and saluted Enjolras, who had just finished bidding goodbye to his parents. "Fancy something for your health and stamina tonight?"

Enjolras' eyes narrowed disapprovingly as he noticed the chamberpot. "That sort of fortification is completely unnecessary."

"How would you know of such a trick?" Nicholine asked him.

"I have been to my cousins' weddings," Enjolras replied nonchalantly even as he slipped an arm around Eponine's waist. "This better be the only prank you have in mind."

"Are you sure? It's not even eleven o'clock-"Bahorel said before Joly clapped his shoulder. "At least it's still early enough to continue the celebration," he said, giving Enjolras and Eponine a knowing smirk.

"Go on upstairs. There are some candles by your bedroom door," Musichetta said in a mischievous undertone to Eponine.

Eponine giggled at the memories this evoked, more so when she caught Enjolras' equally abashed look. "I s'pose we'll see you all tomorrow  _afternoon_ ," she said slyly.

The entire group laughed and hooted as the couple made their way to the stairs. "Enjolras, just for that, you ought to kiss her senseless!" Bossuet shouted up to his friend.

"Not here," Enjolras replied, slipping his hand around Eponine's. "If you must continue your revelry, I advise you go elsewhere. Have a good evening."


	79. Chapter 79: Hitting The Ground Running

**Chapter 79: Hitting the Ground Running**

It was the ticklish sensation of something too near his nose that brought Enjolras out of the haze of his dreams and back to the waking world. When he opened his eyes he found his vision obscured by a familiar curtain of reddish brown hair, which he had to quickly smooth down before he ended up sneezing and possibly waking up Eponine, who was still snuggled comfortably in his arms and using his shoulder as a pillow. A quick check of his surroundings was enough to tell him that it was already way past dawn, at least judging by the way the sunlight pierced past the drapes and played over the smooth walls of the room and the whiteness of the now rumpled bed sheets.

He glanced down when he heard Eponine murmur something incoherently in her sleep. It took all his self control not to wake her up with a kiss or something more. ' _I never thought I'd see her this way too,'_ he mused as he moved her very tousled hair away from her face and her bare shoulders. While Enjolras had always thought that Eponine was lovely when she was speaking or laughing, he had to also admit that there was also a certain beauty in her quieter moments, such as this. For a little while he allowed himself to enjoy the tranquillity of simply staying with her, even if he knew that soon enough he would have to get up and prepare for a whole day of meetings and hearings. It was an unlooked for and yet a very natural peace, and one that he made sure to commit to memory.

After a few minutes he felt Eponine stir and raise her head slightly. "It's morning already, Antoine?" she asked in a raspy voice as she blinked her eyes open.

"It was  _already_  morning before we managed to get to sleep," he said before giving her a light kiss, feeling her smile widely against his lips before he pulled away just enough to rest his forehead against hers. "Did you sleep well?"

"Oh very much," Eponine replied as she affectionately ran a hand through his hair, stopping when her fingers brushed against a tell tale bruise that she had left on the left side of his neck. "What about you?"

Enjolras felt his mouth go dry at the intimate memories her mere touch evoked. "Of course," he managed to say, making sure to look her in the face instead of letting his eyes wander over the rest of her slender form pressed up so close to him that he could feel the curves of her body fitting in so well with the angles of his.

She grinned mischievously at him. "Last night was eventful. I'm sure you have no complaints."

He smirked as he kissed her again, this time making sure to leave her flushed and breathless when he pulled away. "That is a delicate way of putting the situation," he said in her ear as he moved his fingers down her back while he planted soft kisses on the slope of her shoulder. "Unless you would rather phrase it otherwise?"

Her eyes were dark with surprise and desire as she used one hand to trace slow, maddening circles on his chest. "You definitely know what I'm talking about," she whispered breathily before capturing his lips with a fiery kiss to further demonstrate what she meant. It took a while before more conversation became possible again, at which point she then gave him a last teasing kiss on his throat before she sat up to get a better look out the window. "It's funny to wake up and already see the sun out," she said as she caught her breath.

"Why?"

"Normally we're so busy by now, but I s'pose no one expects us to be at work today."

"I do not see why we would have to be absent," Enjolras remarked nonchalantly as he sat up and reached over to push her hair behind her ears. He gingerly reached for his pocket watch, which he'd made sure to wind up and leave on the bedside table the night before. "It's five minutes before seven."

"It's still early enough for a good breakfast," Eponine said, now looking for her own watch on the same table. She sighed with frustration on finding that she had yet to set the time on it. "Most people would take the day after a wedding as a sort of holiday, but that's not something that we can think of on a Monday. You most especially."

He nodded slowly, knowing that she had already read him all too easily. "Since we are on this topic, Eponine, do you intend to be at the Rue des Macons today?" he asked tentatively.

"Odette will scold me if she sees me there, but she can't deny she'll need help with some new papers today," Eponine replied with a laugh. "If I finish those early enough, I s'pose I can talk with Allyce about some things. Then you and I have to fetch my brothers and move all their things over here. "

Enjolras regarded her with both admiration and consternation, having half-expected to hear her declare a holiday at least for herself. ' _Then again, the words 'Eponine' and 'idle' do not belong in the same sentence,'_ he thought as he showed Eponine how to wind up her watch. "We can come for the boys at five in the afternoon," he suggested as he handed the timepiece back to her before he got out of bed.

"Which would mean we'll be done with everything just past dinnertime, so we can't visit your parents today even if they said they want to see us," she said, smiling appreciatively as she watched him rummaging through a chest of drawers in search of clean clothes. "Hopefully they won't mind; they said to come only when we have time for it."

"They'll be here in Paris till next week, so we can call on them tomorrow," he pointed out. "That is unless they gave a specific time for a visit?"

"No. I wonder though if they'll ask if we even have time to  _breathe_ ," Eponine quipped as she got up to also begin readying for the day. As she passed by him, she stopped to give him a long hug. "At least we'll see each other later?" she asked, her eyes bright with anticipation.

"Of course," he said, kissing her forehead before he quit the room in order to wash up and shave. After sharing a breakfast of fresh bread, some cheese, boiled eggs and coffee, they headed out for the day, only parting ways at the Place Saint-Michel. From here Eponine only had to walk a short distance to the Rue des Macons, while Enjolras headed down to the other end of the Rue de Gres, where he could find an omnibus headed in the general direction of the Hotel de Ville.

It was a quarter to nine in the morning when he finally arrived at the Hotel de Ville, which was even busier than usual owing to the exceedingly packed agenda of the month. The first meeting for the day was on the third floor, in a cramped room right beside the diplomats' office. In addition to the flurry accompanying preparations for this session, there was an unexpected visit from the Dutch consulate, thus making the corridor nearly impassable. Despite this, Enjolras had no difficulty locating his two colleagues Bamatabois and Rossi in the middle of some sort of discussion. Both of them were pale and a little gaunt, clearly having not slept much the night before.

Bamatabois' jaw dropped when he saw Enjolras. "What in God's name are you doing here at work? It's the day after your wedding!"

Rossi shook his head with disbelief. "And punctual too; I figured you'd show up in the afternoon and not at this horrible hour."

"There is much to attend to especially in light of the upcoming events this September. This is no time for either idleness or lassitude," Enjolras deadpanned.

Rossi yawned and rubbed his temples. "The latter cannot be helped. I should have left at the same time Courfeyrac did instead of waiting for Grantaire and the rest. This is the last time I'm spending the rest of the night in the Cafe du Foy."

"I already warned you that you would not make it back to Montmartre any earlier than four in the morning," Bamatabois said.

"You and Citizenness Moreau did not do much better, I can  _tell_ ," Rossi retorted balefully. "It's all over your face-"

"I believe that we can put the picture together, Rossi," Enjolras said, knowing better than to inquire further about his friends' adventures after leaving the Rue Guisarde. "Where are Jeanne and Mathieu?"

"Jeanne is dealing with the artisans; they are not happy that their comrades from Lyon have had their petition's hearing delayed to next week. That might take him the better part of today. Mathieu sent a note saying he's dealing with personal affairs, but he was vague about them," Bamatabois replied.

"The question now being whether Mathieu will show up for voting this week," Rossi grumbled.

Bamatabois gave him a withering look. "I will make sure of it," he muttered, taking care to keep his voice down since Lafayette was in the hallway speaking to an official from the consulate.

' _A single day's absence is unremarkable, but one of several days' duration is not,'_ Enjolras mused as he saw more people showing up and a particularly frantic official calling a hearing to order. Perhaps it would soon be necessary for him or Bamatabois or some other trustworthy friend to speak with Mathieu soon, if only to ascertain his colleague's welfare and if necessary, find some way to ensure his being able to vote on petitions before the September deadline for hearings and voting could elapse and the process of deliberation would have to start over. The rest of the day was taken up by one meeting after another, with only very brief recesses to simply calm down increasingly frayed tempers.

By half past one in the afternoon, Enjolras was sure that much of the vocabulary of the Hotel de Ville's regulars had been reduced to 'defer , 'impossible', and 'inconceivable', particularly with regard to a variety of matters ranging from petitions written outside Paris all the way to the simple matter of accounting for the past few months' expenses. ' _This is far more than just summer lassitude,'_ he noted during a very short recess that had been declared as a form of lunch break. For one thing some of his colleagues were irate; in fact Bamatabois had almost gotten into a fistfight with an obnoxious delegate from Calais. Conversely, there were others who had taken to listlessly shuffling through papers, almost without reading what was in front of them.

He hardly had time to set out the bread and cheese he'd brought when he noticed a pudgy, moustached man seemingly trailing Rossi in an attempt to make conversation. Enjolras' eyes narrowed as he realized who this man was; he'd seen him fairly recently along with some other journalists, lingering at the corner of the Rue Jean Jacques Rousseau. ' _Something is afoot if 'Le Journal des Debats 'has sent a correspondent here,'_ he noted. The  _Journal des Debats_  was also one of the more reputed broadsheets in Paris, though lately it had taken a less forgiving slant against the more radical policies and personages. To some degree this was forgivable owing to the general excellence of the paper's writers, both with the actual craft as well as with avoiding the crime of libel.

In a few moments he saw that the correspondent walking in his direction. "What are you here for, Citizen Huguelet?" Enjolras asked cordially.

The journalist stopped in his tracks at this query. "I only need a comment about the proposed moves by the legislature." He wiped his hands on his sleeves. "It seems as if the voting on some of the petitions will have to be delayed owing to differences in opinion from some of the deputies?"

Enjolras raised an eyebrow at this vague query and got to his feet. "Regarding which particular petitions, might I ask?"

"The ones drafted here in Paris, Lyon, and Verdun," Huguelet answered.

"Well, what have you been told of them?"

"The one in Verdun is delayed because of some dispute among the authors themselves, but it seems as if there are stronger and more pertinent objections to the other two from the women and the artisans. It's only natural given the content and the authors..." he trailed off before realizing that the room had fallen silent and everyone was giving him pointed or wary looks. "I've offended your party, haven't I?"

"Petitions that are in line with the party's agenda, but are nevertheless the concern of all the representatives regardless of political affiliation," Enjolras replied seriously.

"Perhaps you speak of representatives who are less heedful of the interests of the aristocracy and a large part of the bourgeoisie," Huguelet said. "Not all of the legislators of France can betray their class as readily as some of you have."

A murmur sounded throughout the room as Enjolras regarded this journalist coolly. "There is no use in framing this discussion in terms akin to those of the old estates, not in this present day and era. That is bygone and divisive. A policy is considered in terms of its benefit to all citizens, not merely for the material gain of one group over another, or for the increase of any one's cachet."

"Everyone knows that your vote is behind those petitions; your wife is one of the principal authors of the Parisian petition, and you have contacts in Lyon," the journalist said. "Personal interest cannot be disregarded even in your case, Citizen."

"It cannot be disregarded, but it is not the primary merit in making a decision. Even if those petitions had completely different origins, I would still subject it to the same process as any other petition. To do otherwise is a disservice to all citizens."

"Clearly you do not fear your colleagues."

"I respect them, but that is all. It is not to each other that we owe our mandate. You would do well to remember that portion of the Charter."

Huguelet nodded shakily. "Very well said, Citizen. The threat though of the delay is still real. It is not only in the legislature that meets in Paris, but even in the voting as it takes place in other districts outside of this capital."

"All the more this will have to be promptly addressed by reaching the districts most concerned," Enjolras replied, knowing that this would be heard by everyone else in the room. ' _Though it is not only from here in the legislature that this push should come,'_ he decided, seeing the aghast looks from Bamatabois and Rossi, as well as the disgruntled expressions of some other convenors and committee members.

Bamatabois swallowed hard as he looked at Enjolras. "It would be easier if Jeanne were here to support this move, or if even Mathieu was present."

"I think that Jeanne may have some wisdom in speaking to his neighbours today," Enjolras remarked in an undertone. He knew better than to comment again on Mathieu's absence. ' _Perhaps I should call on Jeanne tonight or early tomorrow morning and ask what he's learned from the artisans,'_ he decided even as the meeting suddenly was called to order again, prompting Huguelet to make his exit.

For the rest of the afternoon, Enjolras found himself mulling over the issue of delays, if only to figure out how to best manage the matter. ' _In fact it's likely that more answers might be found outside these meetings,'_ he decided. It was possible that some insight might even be found in the Latin quartier, where there was no end to discussion. At about four in the afternoon he departed from the Hotel de Ville and immediately made his way to the Rue Jean Jacques Rousseau. On arriving at the tenement he found a hand-cart already outside the house, clearly in preparation for the move at hand. Almost as soon as he got in the doorway of the tenement, he saw little Jacques running up to greet him. "Well now, how have you been?" Enjolras greeted, picking up the boy before the latter could climb up all over him.

Jacques giggled as he moved so that he was dangling from Enjolras' arm. "I've been very, very good. More than Gavroche and Neville."

"They got into a fight using  _ink_ ," Combeferre said as he emerged from the kitchen with a guilty looking Neville in tow. "Claudine and I literally turned our backs for one minute, but that was enough."

Neville gave Enjolras a sheepish smile. "Sorry. We still washed up!" he said, holding out his clean hands.

"That is evident," Enjolras said. "Do you boys have all your things together?"

The two little Thenardiers nodded gleefully. "Can I read in the room full of books?" Neville asked as he picked up his cat.

"Not till too late," Enjolras replied, setting down Jacques before going upstairs in search of Gavroche. Not surprisingly he found the oldest Thenardier boy still in the middle of packing his own things. Courfeyrac and Bahorel were helping him out as well. All three of them were in their shirtsleeves and also seemed to be in the middle of some raucous storytelling, judging by their uproarious laughter.

Gavroche groaned when he saw Enjolras. "Now you'll have to tell the story again!" he said to the two other men.

"While we were waiting at Saint-Sulpice for you and Eponine, Courfeyrac had a most interesting interlude with a beautiful lady in a gown of gold," Bahorel teased.

Enjolras raised an eyebrow, already guessing where this tale was going. "Isn't it rather early for that?" he asked Courfeyrac a little worriedly.

"It is, hence my erring on the side of being cordial," Courfeyrac admitted despite his friends' scoffing. "If we are to be exact about it, it was Armand's presence that briefly drew her attention away from her helping the organist look for a missing shoe." He shook his head as he helped Gavroche close the carpetbag. "She is the daughter of one of my father's acquaintances. Considering my standing in my family's eyes, or rather what used to be my family, I doubt that anything more than a simple exchange of names is possible."

"You will find a way around it, in due time. How often is it you will find a woman who likes you, and your son as well?" Bahorel drawled. "I would not say it was the doing of any of Eros' arrows, but there was something more than mere gallantry there."

Courfeyrac shrugged good-naturedly at this. "We may have to make more than one trip to move all the beds, even if we already have a handcart," he noted, eager to change the topic.

"What if we have another?" Eponine greeted from the hallway. She had doffed her bonnet and her shawl and her face was flushed from having run a long way. She had with her a large basket with bread, cheese, and some other foods she'd picked up in the market. "I was able to borrow one from a house near the corner."

"Then only a single trip may be necessary," Enjolras replied, smiling at his wife's excellent timing. He made a mental note to ask her about her meeting with Allyce, knowing that rumors of a delay would probably have reached them too. "How were matters at the Rue des Macons?"

"As I told you they'd be; Odette was surprised but she still had a lot for me to do," Eponine replied as she checked Gavroche's carpetbags as well as two more that had been left to one corner of the room. "I s'pose we should put these in one cart with one of the beds, and then put the other two beds in the second cart."

"That is putting a barricade on wheels!" Gavroche crowed before grabbing a carpetbag and racing down the stairs before his sister could say anything.

Enjolras had to keep a straight face on seeing Eponine's exasperated look, even as Courfeyrac and Bahorel quite failed to hold back their fits of laughter. "You always insisted that you were his older sister, and not his mother," Courfeyrac pointed out to Eponine.

"He wouldn't know what to do with a mother, or even a father," Eponine retorted. She counted something out on her fingers and laughed in disbelief. "This is the longest he's ever stayed with me or someone from our family since he was a very small boy."

"What was the longest before that?" Enjolras asked as he took off his coat and rolled up his shirtsleeves to help begin moving one of the bed frames in the apartment.

"Only a month. I think that was when we first arrived here in Paris."

"Now you'll be able to start counting in years," Bahorel said jovially. "He's come a long way from being that gamin at the Temple, and he does enjoy staying with you and Enjolras."

"I'm only around for the food!" Gavroche shouted from downstairs, much to the laughter of everyone else in the tenement.

Even with the assistance of Combeferre, Courfeyrac, and Bahorel, it still took the better part of the next two hours to move all the Thenardier boys' possessions to the Rue Guisarde. This venture was accomplished with much laughter, some mock threats, as well as a few stubbed toes and sore fingers from trying to get the furniture around corners and past tight spots. "Only seven in the evening! I feel like I've been working alongside Hercules," Courfeyrac said as they finished straightening up the room.

"Better him than Sisyphus," Eponine remarked. She dusted off her hands just as she caught sight of her three brothers scampering into the room. "I s'pose you three now want dinner?" she asked them.

"No, we want a score for a fiddle," Gavroche said.

"Navet was passing by and he says there's some fun at the Marche Saint-Germain," Neville explained.

"Ah, that civilized revel," Bahorel said heartily. "Therese and some of her friends are planning to make a good time of it."

Enjolras nodded, remembering that Monday was the customary half-holiday for some of the seamstresses, masons, printers, and scribes of the quartier. He knew too that this would be an opportunity to speak with friends or acquaintances in order to clarify what Huguelet said, as well as provide some insight or solution to the nebulous events at the Hotel de Ville.

Jacques grinned up at both Eponine and Enjolras. "Can we please go with Navet?"

"I s'pose so, only if Enjolras and I can come along too," Eponine replied teasingly.

Gavroche and Neville made faces at this suggestion. "You'll kiss in front of everyone like some of the married people do!" Neville said.

Combeferre, Courfeyrac, and Bahorel burst out laughing. "If  _that_  happened, it would be nothing short of a natural wonder," Courfeyrac guffawed.

"Which is why it will be the least of anyone's problems. We'll be there," Enjolras replied, sharing a conspiratorial look with Eponine. "What about you two?" he asked Combeferre and Courfeyrac.

Combeferre merely smiled. "I'll go for a few minutes, perhaps at the risk of meeting some of my students for next semester."

"A portent of horrors," Courfeyrac quipped. "You'll have to do without me though; Armand is proving to be demanding company."

Enjolras and Combeferre nodded sympathetically. "It may be a while yet till this is feasible, but if you need any help watching him, let us know," Combeferre offered.

Courfeyrac smiled gratefully. "By then we'll find out whose temper he inherited; mine or Paulette's. I hope it's the latter."

After getting what they could of the bread, cheese, and some cold meats in the basket that Eponine had brought, this entire merry group left the house. Courfeyrac went off in the direction of Saint-Sulpice in order to make his way home, while everyone else went down the Rue Guisarde to the Marche Saint-Germain. On most days this square was an edifice and an open market, but on this night it was a cross between a promenade and a cafe. Groups of workingmen sat around drinking and laughing, grisettes openly flirted with students and clerks, some older women snapped at their charges or sourly observed the proceedings, and a few children were starting up what appeared to be a game of  _boules_.

Bahorel lost no time in locating Therese and going off with her in a more secluded corner of the square. Gavroche and Jacques immediately espied Navet in this group of children and ran to join the game. Neville anxiously hung back for a moment to watch the rowdy game and he shook his head. "I can't play like that," he said, sounding embarrassed.

"Ah, problems with the stance," Combeferre noted, observing the way the children had to step back and practically swing their entire bodies to toss the balls into a sort of circle. "There are other games of  _boules_  you can play."

Neville pouted and crossed his arms. "Can we go about then?" he asked Enjolras.

"We'll do that in a few minutes," Enjolras replied, for at that moment he had also caught sight of a colleague he'd been looking for all day. "Good evening Jeanne."

Jeanne looked around on hearing his name, and his eyes widened when he espied Enjolras. "I was just about to look for you on the Rue Guisarde," he said, before nodding cordially to Eponine and Combeferre. "There has been some trouble with the passing of the petitions," he added worriedly.

"So it would appear. Very little was accomplished at the Hotel de Ville today, and not just for lack of quorum either," Enjolras said.

"If you were at the Hotel de Ville, then surely you must have heard of the reason for my absence today," Jeanne said. "The artisans intend to speak up at the September assembly if the legislature does not vote on the petition from Lyon before that time."

"That could very well happen given the present state of affairs at the Hotel de Ville," Enjolras replied before giving a brief account of some of the sessions as well as his talk with the journalist Huguelet. "There will be agitation here by tomorrow once this news is publicized."

"That is a difficult state of affairs," Combeferre said. "You as representative will have to give a good answer as to why the others are delaying."

"Unfortunately there is no tactful way of stating the matter; there is simply a delay and the other deputies must be reminded to act swiftly," Enjolras answered with candor. That was not a conversation he was looking forward to, regardless if it would be with a journalist, a colleague, or simply anyone on the street. "However the agitation may be directed to that very aim of reminding."

"So you would have the people themselves, whether in clubs and bodies or just as individuals, pressure their legislators and deputies to carry out the voting?" Jeanne clarified.

"Yes. It can be done in a meeting or even from afar through letters."

"A worthy idea, especially if it can reach the constituents in Lyon and Verdun."

"Well there is no time to waste; all the smaller conventions must act on this within a fortnight so we can be sure of any sort of progress," Enjolras said. He discreetly touched Eponine's elbow, seeing the oddly thoughtful look that crossed her face. "Did you manage to visit Citizenness Legendre today?"

"Yes, and this very thing came up," Eponine replied, looking at him and then at Jeanne and Combeferre. "It would have gone nicely enough but there was this gentleman, some representative from Alencon, who called. He was courteous till he told Allyce that we were best starting over with our petition since there was no way it was ever going to be  _voted on_  before September. I s'pose you can imagine what Allyce had to say to that!"

"Yes, and I am sure that she was not the only one who had something to say," Enjolras deadpanned.

Eponine rolled her eyes even as she nudged him. "I only told him that he was presuming too much and that he did not have eyes all the way into September," she said, pretending to adopt a demure tone.

"Once again, you two have done it," Combeferre said knowingly. "Claudine told me that your group's petition wasn't endorsed to any one deputy or legislator in particular, so how will you go about agitating?" he asked Eponine.

"I s'pose it will have to be by reaching friends in other areas and asking  _them_  to push their own representatives," Eponine said. "I think that's the only way they'll listen, if it's coming from right in their own homes in a way."

"I see the merit in that approach, but what of a more direct one?" Enjolras asked, picking up Neville, who had begun to quietly complain for someplace to sit.

"It would work if we were men; the moment some of your colleagues see the word 'Citizenness' on anything that's from here in Paris, they toss it out," Eponine replied with an undertone of frustration. She bit her lip before looking at Enjolras. "I know what people think I will do but I wouldn't dare to ask you either to help much there, not when you have several other things to vote on."

Before Enjolras could say something to this, a shout followed by the crash of breaking glass came from one side of the square, where some journalists had been gathered. After a few moments Nicholine Montrose was seen dragging Grantaire away from where a drunken correspondent from Spain was haranguing him with various invectives. "Laurent, there's no use arguing with him in Occitan, he's not from  _that_  part of Spain!" the irate governess was heard to say to her lover, whose cravat was already scuffed and out of shape from the debacle.

"Indignation requires no translation," Grantaire said. He smiled cheerily at Enjolras and his companions. "Welcome to the merriest of promenades!"

"If one counts sitting as a form of walking," Nicholine groused.

"It was merely a pause, to discuss the transformation of Citizen Mathieu," Grantaire replied, keeping one arm around his mistress' waist. "He is now the man turned into the millstone around the necks of the Parisian legislature."

"A millstone?" Eponine repeated.

"Why to keep it rooted in one place; he has declared a vote of abstinence on all the petitions," Grantaire said. "He had some sort of meeting and then he mentioned this to the  _Moniteur_."

Enjolras gritted his teeth at this development while Jeanne shook his head. "What reason did he give?" the younger legislator asked after a moment.

"He intends to maintain a political advantage," Grantaire said. "He is on the wrong end of the lever."

"From our perspective," Combeferre pointed out.

"He keeps his own counsel most of the time; it is not like him to make a statement in advance," Jeanne observed. "No, there is a reason for this, and someone or a group he is trying to reach."

"Some matter in Chaillot perhaps?" Combeferre suggested. "Maybe a familial or business interest?"

"I s'pose that would do at least with regard to the petitions from here and from Lyon since those do have some effect in business," Eponine said. "It doesn't make sense for the one from Verdun since it's about roads or anything else."

Nicholine by this time had extricated herself from Grantaire's grip. "So even you're in the mood for talking politics?" she asked Eponine. "There are some friends over there in the same frame of mind, and need a sensible voice from  _Les Femmes_  to explain a thing or two to them about what's going on in the legislature and what the ladies have to do with it," she added, glancing towards where some older women were talking.

Eponine craned her neck to see what Nicholine was referring to. "Do you s'pose they'd mind?" she asked, anxiously fiddling with her gloves.

"I wouldn't have come over here if you weren't welcome," Nicholine replied confidently.

Enjolras noticed that Neville had been quiet all this while, but obviously very bored with the discussion. "You could go with Gavroche and Jacques if you like," he offered as he set Neville back on his feet.

Neville looked towards where his brothers were still playing  _boules_. "Can we go star charting?" he asked Combeferre.

The physician made a show of looking up at the sky. "Yes, I think there's a new constellation or two I can show you; it's a clear sky tonight."

Neville smiled gleefully before looking at his sister and his brother-in-law. "Won't you two be walking together?" he asked quizzically.

"There are a lot of people we have to talk to, and it's faster if we go different directions for the next hour or so," Eponine explained to him. "We'll be back here in a while."

Neville nodded before going off with Combeferre, stopping only to throw a boasting look towards his brothers. In the meantime Nicholine looked despairingly at Enjolras and Eponine. "Only you two would get back to political work so soon after a wedding."

"Delphi waits for no season," Grantaire said before kissing her cheek.

She smacked the back of his head. "Laurent, one more reference to mythology..."

Jeanne shook his head at this ensuing argument while Enjolras and Eponine exchanged knowing looks. "It won't be too lengthy I hope," Eponine said in an undertone as she smoothed out her hair and then adjusted her hat. "Is this presentable enough?"

Enjolras nodded approvingly. "Take as long as you need. This may be a long night for both of us," he said, knowing now that he too would also have to pursue a certain line of inquiry and discussion for the rest of the evening. He clasped her hand firmly. "Good luck."

She smiled encouragingly as she smoothed out his cuffs. "You too. I'm sure you'll do just fine," she said, squeezing his fingers one more time before going to the crowd.


	80. Chapter 80: On Subjugation by Content and Character

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two more chapters after this!! 
> 
> I'll be taking requests (via reviews or PM) for one shots, backstories, and outtakes you'd like to see from this universe. Feel free to send them along!

**Chapter 80: On Subjugation by Content and Character**

Although the heat of late summer was enough to plunge much of Paris into a state of languor, it seemed to do quite the opposite for Eponine.  _'It's only because it's easier to do things with so much daylight,'_ she decided one noontime as she was rushing back to the Rue des Macons, having just finished with some errands for the Stendhals as well as for her own household. It was August 8, a Thursday of one of the busiest weeks she had ever known, but at the same time it was as lovely an August morning as she could ever ask for. The sun chased away any threat of rain while the air was stirred just so by a slight breeze that brought with it the smells of bread, fruit, as well as a myriad of other odors so typical of the streets. Everything was lush and green; even the normally unremarkable walkway past the church of Saint-Etienne seemed to have taken on much life thanks to the foliage on either side of the avenue. ' _Maybe everything is new, or I'm only noticing it all again now,'_ she realized, carefully adjusting her grip on the basket she carried. It was a pleasant contrast from how she had been a year ago, when she had been too despondent to enjoy even the warmth of the sun.

The past few days had been nothing short of frenetic, thanks to the chaos of settling into new routines combined with her occupation, the struggles of political work, and the social commitments that her new civil status entailed. All the same Eponine delighted in this unusual sort of bliss, for it was not dreamy and airy but something fierier that not only charged every moment but even her entire being. It was a new potency that made her feel as if she  _could_  take on anything, something that was more possible or at least easier to bear now that she was certain she wouldn't be alone in it all.

As she dashed into the Place du Pantheon, she saw a crowd gathered near one of the houses there, the very same residence where the  _Radicaux_  meeting had been just a few months ago. She caught sight of two figures, one ginger-haired and the other raven in the middle of this confusion, so she pushed her way forward through this crush. "Are you two duelling again?" she asked, not hiding her consternation.

"We're in counsel at Sparta," Grantaire replied gamely. "Discussing the whereabouts of our Odysseus from Chaillot."

"Citizen Mathieu has not been at home, he hasn't been at work for the past few days, so now the police are looking for him as if he was any other man gone missing," Coutard supplied. "The last anyone has heard from him is his interview with the  _Moniteur_."

"He doesn't want to be found though, so I s'pose if the police are going about that way they won't even see his shadow. He'll always be a step ahead of them," Eponine pointed out.

Grantaire guffawed approvingly over the hoots and catcalls this elicited from the other bystanders. "Nothing gets past a Cyrene even here in Paris!"

Coutard scratched his head. "In this particular case shouldn't she be Nausicaa?"

"Nausicaa was surprised by Odysseus, and that has yet to happen. Besides, Eponine is too keen to be taken by a mere mortal deceiver," Grantaire replied.

Eponine snorted at this roundabout compliment. "So where do they say he is?"

"That spineless coward is nowhere west of the Invalides," another man chimed in. "Absent from his constituency, absent from work..."

"Maybe his seat has finally become too hot so he's had to vacate it," a wag muttered.

"He was elected for a reason—"

"Who knows what they drink in Chaillot!"

Eponine rolled her eyes, already regretting having barged in on this seemingly useless chatter. "I s'pose no one really knows then where he is," she finally said.

"That is the very problem Citizenness Thenardier-I mean, Citizenness Enjolras," one of the more wearied journalists said. "He seems to be avoiding us as well."

Eponine had to bite her lip to keep from laughing out loud, even if she knew exactly what might have brought about this state of affairs. "You'd have an easier time if you were politer about it, or didn't have to go about in such large groups," she finally said.

A few of the journalists chuckled while others cringed a little guiltily. "It seems as if domestic felicity has done nothing to tame that tongue of yours, young lady," one man muttered balefully.

"Only towards those who can't be gentlemen," Eponine replied as she gave them a smile that would have been sweet had it not been for the defiance in her eyes. As she continued walking to the Stendhals' house, she tried to imagine where Mathieu could be if he was hiding both from his colleagues and the journalists. ' _He wouldn't leave Paris since he has to keep his eyes on things, so that makes looking for him a little easier,'_ she decided as she finally came in sight of the familiar house.

She immediately caught sight of little Jacques sitting on the stoop of the house; he'd decided to tag along with her that day while Gavroche visited Courfeyrac and Armand while Neville spent the day with the Pontmercys, having displayed an intense interest in perusing the library at that place. At this moment Jacques' face was smeared with crumbs of icing and pastry. "Claudine, Musichetta, Azelma, and some other ladies are here, having coffee with the old lady Odette," he reported gleefully.

"Odette isn't that old!" Eponine chided. She saw through the window that the front office was full of visitors, and that they'd all taken the liberty of finding whatever seats they could. ' _I s'pose I shan't be finished with work before four then,'_ she thought a little petulantly, having looked forward to completing some thick documents that day in hopes of making Friday afternoon free to sit in on the session at the Hotel de Ville.

"Eponine, you're late for your own meeting!" Emile Stendhal called to her as he stepped out of the back office. "You go on in there; Jacques and I will sort out the basket."

"It's a meeting without my knowing it!" Eponine said. "The things for you and your mother are all on the left, along with the ink. Everything else is mine, especially the vegetables." She saw Jacques make a face at the last words. "I won't stew them for too long this time, don't you worry about it," she said, picking some dirt out of her brother's hair before handing over the basket and going into the front office.

Odette nearly dropped her teacup when she saw Eponine. "My dear, have you read the news today?" she asked worriedly. "It's awful!"

"Only from the  _Moniteur_  and the  _Journal des Debats_ ," Eponine replied. "Is it the  _Charivari_  again?"

" _Revue des Deux Mondes,"_ Azelma said, looking rather sorry to break the news. "They're normally more literary and they like plays and novels, but look what piece they've got for all of Paris today," she said, handing a rolled up paper to her sister.

Eponine's eyebrows shot up as she caught sight of the title of a story, ' _Eustace and the Beauties of the Pont d'Arcole'._ What bemusement she felt quickly turned into dread as she read through the increasingly salacious narrative of a young man's misadventures in the neighbourhood of a brothel populated by unmistakable caricatures. "Don't they have anything better to do?" she asked as she put the piece down on her desk.

"Apparently not. They seem to be  _tickled_  that we're involved in this venture of trying to get the legislature to finish its long delayed business," Musichetta said.

"It is obviously rubbish when looked at as story or fact, so there is no need to dignify it," Claudine said, sounding irritated that Odette had brought up this topic before anything else. "Eponine, is there a chance of any vote  _at all_  proceeding tomorrow?"

"I s'pose there is, even if Citizen Mathieu decides he won't go to work tomorrow or for the rest of the summer," Eponine said.

"At least that's not a waste, though it would have been nice to have a unanimous vote from Paris," one of the women from Les Halles muttered.

"Unanimous? I'd worry about Citizen Rossi; he'll make his choice according to his party's," a washerwoman scoffed.

"He's got a good head on his shoulders, so he might do differently," Musichetta reasoned.

"It's  _because_  he's got a good head on his shoulders that he'll bend to what they want," the washerwoman pointed out. "Not everyone can afford to be so bold or to be romantic," she added, casting a knowing look at Eponine.

' _Bold is pretty much what Antoine is, but hardly a romantic,'_ Eponine thought, managing to keep a straight face. "I s'pose we'll have to discuss how we'll have to do tomorrow at the Hotel de Ville, voting or not," she finally said.

"We'll have to talk to the deputies present tomorrow," Claudine said. "Especially those visiting from outside Paris; those are the ones who might be easiest to deal with."

"How can we be sure any of them will be willing to talk to us? Journalists are one thing, but ladies are another to them," Musichetta asked. She looked up as a knock sounded from the front office windowpane. "It's Bossuet and Marthe, what are they doing here?"

"There's a note from the Hotel de Ville!" Marthe shouted through the keyhole.

Despite the fact that everyone was scrambling to get to the door, Eponine managed to get her hands first on the letter that Bossuet was holding up. "What were you doing in the area?" she asked breathlessly as she examined the piece of folded paper.

"Visiting Citizen Blanchard," Bossuet said, taking off his cravat to wipe his face with it. "Someone ran to tell him to go to the Hotel de Ville for news, so we followed. There's news there, and the legislature is in the thick of it."

"Citizen Mathieu turned up?" Musichetta asked hopefully.

"No, though that would have been delightful," Marthe said. "Enjolras said it's in the note."

Eponine realized that her husband hadn't sealed the missive, which meant he was either in a great hurry, or had meant the contents for eventual public perusal. All the same she made sure to step a few paces away from the rest of the group before silently reading these words:

_Eponine,_

_I must apologize for not being able to relay this in person. There is no time for anyone to lose especially in light of the good news you will read shortly:_

_You will be pleased to know that the voting for all the petitions has now been rescheduled for tomorrow. There will be a series of final committee hearings in the morning prior to the plenary assembly in the afternoon. It will be necessary for all authors to answer questions in both sessions. I trust that this message will reach you in time to make the necessary preparations._

_Till we meet later._

_Antoine_

Jacques tugged on his sister's skirt. "What did he say?" he asked excitedly.

"It's going to be a busy day for everyone tomorrow,  _petit_ ," Eponine said, ruffling his hair. She grinned as she folded up the letter and pocketed it, almost giddy with joy and exhilaration at what she would have to say. "There's a new answer to your question, Claudine. There will be a vote tomorrow, on everything. We'll have to be there for meetings in the morning and the big assembly in the afternoon, and it's not just to watch!"

Some of the women gasped with surprise, others cheered, while Musichetta and Azelma applauded. "How did that happen? First they are not moving, and suddenly they are hastening," Claudine said. "Someone must have done something to speed the proceedings up."

"I'm not complaining," Eponine said with a shrug. "I don't s'pose we can stay for sessions all day, so we'll have to decide who'll go in the morning, and who'll come after lunch."

"You can be there the whole day, Eponine," Odette chimed in. "You didn't take a holiday on Monday, so I am giving you one tomorrow."

"Odette, what of work? I'm not done with the papers-"

"You'll do well, and besides you can't do more till Emile finishes his end of it. Anyway you're a married woman now and you ought to spend more time with that husband of yours."

"Only for a few minutes between this meeting and that assembly?" Eponine quipped. All the same she already understood what everyone was silently hoping for, or even implying with their reticence. ' _Can't anyone else be with me then?'_ she wondered.

"If Odette is giving you the chance, you should take it, Eponine," Claudine said reassuringly. "You will not be alone. I will be there in the morning at the very least. Allyce usually is around in the afternoon. Leonor's schedule is quite erratic as well but I am sure she will make time for it."

"It will be quite the merry war if it's you and Eponine facing the morning panel," Bossuet said. "Almost a sure victory."

"If the morning meeting goes well, the afternoon vote is almost guaranteed," Marthe observed.

"I never imagined both of you would be so optimistic," Musichetta said.

Marthe grinned triumphantly. "If you were with us and actually saw the chaos at the Hotel de Ville, you'd agree with our appraisal."

"Why, what was there?" Eponine asked curiously.

"A yard of headless chickens actually would have had made more sense," Bossuet replied, eliciting a round of laughter from the group.

Soon enough the women began discussing who among them would be at the Hotel de Ville and at what particular hours, and who else would have to be notified. Within an hour the meeting was over and the ladies returned to their homes or workplaces, leaving Eponine to resume her much postponed paperwork. Not surprisingly the hours seemed to pass swiftly, such that Eponine only realized the time when Jacques began impatiently clamouring to return home.

"Ponine, we have to be home before Gavroche gets there or he'll eat everything left in the cupboards!" he whined.

"Why, did you leave something there?" Eponine asked as she gathered up her things.

"I had some part of a brioche..."

"If he eats that, you shouldn't be the least bit sorry for him. You've been having sweets all day."

"The nice ladies said I could," Jacques said.

"If you eat too much of those you might get a stomach ache. I don't think you want that in the middle of the summer," Eponine reasoned before bidding goodbye to the Stendhals.  _'At least Neville and Jacques have a few years before they start getting the way Gavroche is now,'_ she thought. She could only wonder how she and Enjolras would cope when that time came.

Since it was mid-afternoon the streets were busy again with people hurrying home, to run errands, or perhaps to meet with friends in various cafes. It was impossible for Eponine and Jacques to make their way home without running into a few acquaintances here and there, all of them eager for some sort of chat or to clarify the news of the day. ' _At least no one has asked about that horrible story yet,'_ Eponine thought with some relief as she and her brother extricated themselves from conversing with a garrulous vendor in the vicinity of the Rue Ferou. Try as she may she could not completely banish this from her mind, even if it was not the first time she and her friends had been so vilified, or even if she never considered herself as the overly delicate sort of woman. ' _Though I s'pose people like to forget such a thing is just as horrid as being what they write about,'_ she realized with a sort of rueful indignation as she set about to preparing supper.

Within the hour both Gavroche and Neville had arrived home, and were now chattering with Jacques, eagerly one-upping each other about their eventful day. It was nearly seven in the evening by the time Eponine was finished with her cooking, by which point she also heard the much awaited sound of the front door opening. She went out into the front room in time to find Enjolras taking off his coat in order to hang it neatly by the door. For a brief moment she contented herself with watching him, this man who was not only her spouse and lover, but her best friend and ally; it was so difficult for her to figure out what to say to this one person who had the capacity to overwhelm her with the slightest thing he did. She took a deep breath before she walked up to him and pulled him close by his lapels to give him a deep, passionate kiss, regardless of the groans and disgusted noises her brothers were making nearby.

"That was for what you did today," she said breathlessly against his lips when they came up for air. "I'll never be able to thank you enough for it."

"It wasn't my doing only," Enjolras said, his voice low with surprised desire as well as the need to catch his breath. He then clasped her hands to pull her to an adjacent room, which served as a study and a small library. Once there he deftly closed the door behind them and then tucked a stray strand of her hair behind her ear. "That was quite the greeting, Eponine," he said.

"I couldn't think of how to say everything," she laughed as she began to undo his cravat. "So tell me what happened. How did that decision come about?"

"It was the intended result of that trip to the Marche Saint-Germain," Enjolras explained, letting his hands go about her waist. "All of the legislators assembling here in Paris learned who among us thought the same way, and then agreed to put the vote on tomorrow's agenda."

"How many of them needed more convincing?"

"Not too many, surprisingly. I only had to talk to five. Hopefully they will show up and help make a proper quorum. Are you prepared for tomorrow?"

Eponine nodded gleefully. "I was in a meeting when your note arrived at the Rue des Macons. You, Bossuet, and Marthe saved us a great deal of trouble."

"Will you be attending in the morning or in the afternoon?"

"The whole day. Can you believe it?"

"Well, is it fine with the Stendhals?"

"I s'pose Odette will  _really_  be upset if I go to work tomorrow. She says I need a holiday, but I s'pose that is a funny thing to say with everything that will be happening at the Hotel de Ville."

Enjolras chuckled at this observation. "There's one more matter to make sure of," he said at length, a little more to himself than to her. "Bamatabois has ascertained the whereabouts of Citizen Mathieu."

Her jaw dropped with surprise as she realized what he would surely do in these circumstances. "Then you will call on him?"

"It is necessary."

"Where is Citizen Mathieu supposed to be hiding?"

"Near the Pont Louis-Philippe, next to the Quai de Bourbon" Enjolras replied, sounding a little irritated at this fact. "It was the last place anyone cared to look, within  _sight_  of the Hotel de Ville."

Eponine quite failed to stifle her laughter at this fact, more so when Enjolras raised one eyebrow. "He's not the sort to go far; he'd have to stay in Paris to see how things were going and if his silence was worth what he promised. You know these businessmen do not usually stay too far away either from their workplaces."

Enjolras' eyes were bright with lively interest as he pondered these insights. "You have some of the talents of a detective."

"I've only spent years avoiding agents," she said gaily. She squeezed his hands, letting her thumbs rub his knuckles in the way she knew he liked. "Antoine, I'd like to also call on Citizen Mathieu. I s'pose it might be a little unseemly to have a lady going about on business of some sort, but he is the only legislator from Paris who has been so difficult to reach."

"Your aim then is for a unanimous vote from the city representatives?"

"I'd like it to be so."

"He will surely question you."

"You know that is not new to me. I think too that my brothers can behave themselves for three hours or so, or we can ask someone to come up here for a little bit to watch them."

Enjolras was silent a little longer, clearly considering her idea. His expression was one of confidence as he clasped her hand firmly. "Very well then, we will go together. We should leave here before eight o'clock so we can meet Bamatabois at the quay near the Pont de la Tournelle."

Eponine smiled as she embraced him tightly. "Thank  _you_ ," she said in his ear, only to have to muffle a giggle into his shoulder when he gave her an awkward kiss on the top of her head. She reluctantly stepped away to allow him to finish some work while she ran back to the kitchen to get the food out on the table.

Dinner was a merry affair, with the little Thenardiers all too eager to tell again about their respective capers outside of the house. All the same this hour passed too swiftly and soon it was time to depart. After a quick visit to the Rue Ferou, it was decided that Bossuet would watch over the three Thenardiers. "You do not have many sharp corners in this house, so I shall be safely out of harm's way," Bossuet said sagaciously as he made himself comfortable on the settee in the front room.

"There's no problem. Neville's been learning how to bandage people," Gavroche volunteered impishly.

"Hopefully that skill will not be necessary tonight," Enjolras said, the admonition in his voice making it clear that no mischief would be tolerated this evening. "Don't stay up too late."

' _At least one of them is going to be faking sleep under the blankets when we get back,'_ Eponine thought knowing all too well what to expect from the three boys. "You heard him. We'll be back as soon as we can," she told the boys.

"Good luck shaking the dead wood," Gavroche quipped, making a salute before dragging his brothers to some game they had set aside earlier in the evening.

" _I sometimes wish that Gavroche wasn't so exact with his jokes_ ," Eponine thought as she and Enjolras left the house and began searching for a fiacre. In a short while they were on their way to the riverbank where Bamatabois was supposed to be waiting.

Eponine swallowed hard as they neared the Quai de la Tournelle; although this place was still busy with ferrymen and porters, there were quite a number of leering, hulking figures that she knew all too well to stay away from. "This is not the best place for a rendezvous, Antoine. One of us should have brought at least a pen knife!" she whispered furtively to her spouse as they alighted from the fiacre.

"We're meeting at a safer place, at that house there," Enjolras said, pointing to a structure a few paces away from the roadside. Much to their consternation, Bamatabois was nowhere in sight. "Perhaps he is delayed," Enjolras muttered through gritted teeth as he looked up and down the quay that was their designated meeting place. He pulled his watch out of his fob. "This is the appointed hour. Something must have detained him since he is not unpunctual in habit.'

"He was early, so I sent him on home to the arms of Citizenness Moreau," a voice said from the darkness. The stooped figure of Gabriel Mathieu emerged from behind this house. "I'm quite sick of his voice, frankly."

"Why are you still here then?" Enjolras asked, looking this man in the face.

Mathieu smiled as he dusted off the much worn frock coat that he wore as a sort of disguise. "I would rather speak with you, Enjolras. I find your resolve more than impressive, especially considering what it has resulted to just on this day alone." He shook his head as he looked at Eponine. "Citizenness, this is hardly the place for an evening stroll," he said more condescendingly.

"Yes, but I s'pose you'd rather that I speak with you here about that petition instead of tomorrow in front of all your colleagues at the Hotel de Ville," Eponine said civilly.

Mathieu's cracked lips turned up in the beginnings of a smile. "You are bold, and perfectly matched," he said. "What is it you two want to know?"

"First, the reason for your absence. There has been too much speculation regarding it," Enjolras said.

"What speculation?"

"Those involving a bribe or some material enticement, if not that of opportunities."

"What do they take me for, an unprincipled puppet?"

"If you are not that, what then?"

"I had thought it would be best to stay out of the middle of conflict. Upon consult with some friends, I decided to distance myself from the proceedings," Mathieu said. He shook out his coat again. "You know my party is in the middle of everything; we are accused of being lukewarm. And do not tell me that Bamatabois can take a stand; that  _boy_  is foolish and always acting in a fury."

"A vote of abstinence only confirms that reputation," Enjolras pointed out. "This is not the time for temerity, my friend."

"Which is why I intend to return tomorrow," Mathieu replied. "Upon hearing of your efforts to ensure a quorum in tomorrow's assembly, I knew that my constituents would one day ask about my presence in the matter. I am not about to risk their wrath."

"Is that your only reason?"

"I intend to live up to my mandate."

' _Half-hearted but better than absent,'_ Eponine noted. "Then, since you're attending tomorrow, might you want to know a little more about the petition that was drafted here in Paris. I don't s'pose anyone has properly explained it to you yet," she spoke up.

"You think you can make an excellent case for it?" Mathieu said. "I am sure that you are aware that adding to the wages of women runs quite counterintuitive to business practices."

"Maybe if one's worry is only about money," Eponine replied, not fazed by his lengthy diction. She knew she had to be practical when speaking to Mathieu; now was not the time to marshal any philosophy. "If wages were better, then a woman could stay at her work for more years since she would be in a better way to see to her own health instead of going too quickly from exhaustion, consumption or something horrid of that sort. You wouldn't have to teach new workers simply because better ones have left for other situations, and you wouldn't have to worry either about the harm of children being employed since their mothers' wages do more than enough already. It's too much trouble to employ children, and anyway they should be in school. With all of that in place, there will perhaps be less to take away from one's profit."

"Why should I give higher compensation for unskilled work as women do?"

"Men perform unskilled tasks too, and it's hardly fair to pay them highly if we are to go that way. Then sometimes it's a waste to give such work to women especially when an employer is well aware of what they are capable of."

"That is an overly high estimation of the capacities of your sex."

"I'm not the only one who can think that way; we have some schools for girls and one can't stop parents from educating daughters. For my part, I've done a little bit of reading to add to what I already can do, and I'd think it would be a shame if for much of the day I had to act ignorant."

Mathieu regarded her with a curious expression. "You are definitely an agitator, not born for the world of commerce."

"I'm not patient enough for the second. But you know that commerce cannot go on without people like us working every day," Eponine said with a shrug.

Mathieu nodded slowly. "It is good you are not presumptuous about matters you have no knowledge of; those kinds are the worst fools of all and the sort I send back to their beds." His smile was one of admiration as he looked from Eponine to Enjolras. "I must say you and your husband have given me quite a bit to ponder on."

"I believe now is the time to leave you to your ruminations," Enjolras said cordially. "The session begins at eight. Good evening to you."

Mathieu made a gesture as if tipping his hat to them. "Stay safe on your way home, both of you," he said before giving a last bow and walking towards a house on the boulevard.

Eponine watched Mathieu walk away for a few moments before she shook her head bemusedly. "That was unexpected," she whispered. "It's good that he stayed to listen anyway despite being a little nasty at the beginning."

"It was a surprise," Enjolras concurred. He was smiling when he caught her gaze. "From what I've seen tonight, Eponine, it seems you will have no problem with tomorrow's session."

Eponine found herself blushing at this compliment. "Thank you. I sometimes wish though I could speak in that same way you do in front of a lot of people."

"It only works to a certain extent," Enjolras said as they began walking back to the main road. "Sometimes the best debate is of the silent sort."


	81. Chapter 81: Defiance Allied With Progress

**Chapter 81: Defiance Allied With Progress**

One of the more immediate consequences of these events was yet another late night for the household at 9 Rue Guisarde. ' _Hopefully all of last night's work will help make today a little less frenetic,'_ Enjolras thought the next morning as he tried to make himself comfortable in a seat of a cramped omnibus. It was a feat easier said than done, especially with Eponine's elbow occasionally jostling his as she reread some notes, or with Gavroche's squirming restlessly whenever the omnibus had to stop to let off or take on more passengers.

As the omnibus finally approached the Pont au Change, Gavroche let out an exaggerated yawn as he swung his feet, nearly kicking off his shoes. "They should get eagles for steeds, not snails," he said as he turned about in his seat to get a better look out of the omnibus windows.

"If this delay persists we can simply walk the rest of the way," Enjolras pointed out as he adjusted the strap of his satchel. One glance told him that the bridge was now impassable: carts and carriages already formed disorderly queues all the way to the opposite bank, and increasingly irate drivers and passengers were haranguing each other or looking around to see what had caused this inexplicable delay.

He felt gloved fingers brushing against his knee and he looked to meet Eponine's alert, avid gaze. "I s'pose you mean we should run. It is already half past seven," she said as she slipped her notes back into the bag of papers she carried.

Enjolras surreptitiously took a look at his watch. "Actually it's twenty minutes after seven."

"All the same to us now," she replied, smiling playfully at him as she adjusted the string of her bonnet such that the hat covered much of her reddish hair. She looked about and saw Gavroche leaping out of the omnibus. "Now that's decided it!" she exclaimed before springing to her feet to give chase.

' _Gavroche must have forgotten he's racing towards a place of ennui,'_ Enjolras thought as he swiftly alighted from the omnibus. It was just as well that Neville and Jacques were spending the day with Prouvaire; there was no way that the two little boys would have liked this increasingly chaotic situation. As Enjolras walked briskly, he could easily see the vivid green of Eponine's dress as well as the jaunty blue of Gavroche's hat moving through the throng, but it was difficult to catch up to them owing to all the passersby stopping to gawk at something in the general direction of the riverbank. He gritted his teeth as he finally got a good look at this disturbance; not only was the entire bridge clogged, but much of the road from the Place du Chatelet, to the Quai de Gevres, and all the way to the Hotel de Ville had been reduced to a single narrow lane. This was thanks to an opulent carriage that had apparently been stopped at one side of the Place de Hotel de Ville by a group of people comprised of some glassworkers, masons, and a few laundresses.

"There's a fly caught in the spider web!" Gavroche called from where he had climbed up onto a vegetable seller's cart.

"That is enough heckling, Gavroche," Enjolras warned. He recognized this carriage as belonging to a representative from Alencon, probably the same gentleman who had accosted Eponine and Allyce earlier that week. ' _One who was not around yesterday,'_ he recalled, already knowing where this discussion could very well lead.

"Citizen Enjolras, we've caught this dog running with his tail between his legs!" shouted a mason brandishing a cudgel.

"A dog! I will show you what a dog is -" the representative growled.

"Let me through," Enjolras said calmly to the people blocking the carriage. He quickly walked up to the window of the vehicle and looked pointedly at the beleaguered man glaring back at him. "I do not need to remind you where your duty today is, Citizen," he said sternly.

"Duty! That's a fine word for you to say, you rabble-rouser!" the older representative barked. "If you do not send these people away, Lafayette will certainly hear of this!"

"They will leave. You are a citizen and thus you will be guaranteed of safety," Enjolras replied, making sure to look squarely at the mob surrounding the carriage. "However since you are an elected representative to the legislature, it is necessary that you turn your carriage back towards the Hotel de Ville and attend the sessions."

The representative was red in the face. "Do you think you can order me around,  _boy_?"

"The matters to be voted on today will also concern your constituents, even if they did not have a direct hand in authoring the petition," Enjolras said, raising an eyebrow imperiously. He could hear the murmurs still persisting through the crowd, so he signed to the mason holding the cudgel to let the carriage pass. Nevertheless he made sure to look his fellow representative in the eye. "Your seat still awaits you. Good day Citizen," he said before stepping aside to let the carriage pass.

"He shouldn't leave," the mason growled, his grip tightening on the cudgel.

"We cannot prevent that but he will be duly sanctioned by the assembly," Enjolras answered. This answer seemed to be enough for some of the people in the crowd, who then began to step away. One man grabbed the leader of the crowd, whispered something in his ear and then pulled him away from the scene.

As the crowd continued to disperse, Enjolras glanced at Gavroche, who was hurriedly pocketing a pebble. "It appears that the meetings today may be just as heated. I trust that despite this, you will conduct yourself properly," he said.

Gavroche thumbed his nose. "Only if they don't throw their fists first."

Enjolras sighed at this before he looked about for Eponine and finally caught sight of her on the steps of the Hotel de Ville, standing on tiptoe as if she was searching for him and Gavroche in the throng. With her were Combeferre and Claudine. Eponine sighed with obvious relief when at last she saw them approaching the steps. "Some of the police were getting ready to step in; they might have done it if you'd been there a minute longer," she said.

"Their best course of action would be to escort that carriage safely out of the vicinity. Anything else could be easily misconstrued," Enjolras pointed out. It was clear that any attempt to apprehend the leaders of the mob might have resulted in a brawl or something worse.

Combeferre wiped his spectacles. "Citizen Bayard is here," he noted. "As expected, there is no change in his disposition. I had been intending to sit in also on the session but since he is present, it might be best that I absent myself."

"We'll need to win the other committee members' opinions so they can overrule him by a majority," Claudine muttered with distaste. "All these spectators might turn the committee hearing into a show."

' _Someone of authority will have to be present to help bring back order to the proceedings if necessary,'_ Enjolras thought. At that moment, as they entered the Hotel de Ville, he noticed Charles Jeanne just ending a discussion with Feuilly, who was accompanying some envoys from various consulates and foreign correspondents. He nodded to his colleague, who took the opportunity to excuse himself from the previous conversation.

"It seems as if it will not be a prudent idea for you to attend the hearing on the Parisian petition," Jeanne said to Enjolras before cordially greeting the rest. "There is far too much speculation."

"I intend to be at the hearing of the artisans from Lyon," Enjolras answered. "That is also another matter that requires attention."

Jeanne nodded understandingly. "Then I will sit in on the Parisian petition. Enough of us are present for a quorum this afternoon, but I have not yet seen Bamatabois. Rossi is attending the hearing about the Verdun petition since it concerns some matter of infrastructure he'd like to look into. Mathieu is already here, and he said that you two talked with him last night?" he said, also looking to Eponine.

"Only for a little while," Eponine said with a grin. "Long enough to get him to understand some things."

"It seems you two made quite the impression," Jeanne remarked. He nodded to the ladies. "Well let's not keep the committee waiting."

Enjolras discreetly reached for Eponine's hand and squeezed it, earning him a smile that was both confident and affectionate before she followed Claudine and Jeanne to a meeting room on the ground floor. In the meantime Enjolras, Combeferre, and Gavroche went upstairs, towards where most of the other committee hearings were to be held.

The second floor corridor was crowded with even more people, many of them trying to edge closer to what appeared to be an argument towards the middle of the hall. Suddenly someone shrieked just as Mathieu evaded Bamatabois' attempt to tackle him, just seconds before he sent the younger man to the floor with a punch to the nose.

"What is the meaning of this?" Enjolras demanded as he quickly held back Mathieu by the arms while Combeferre sprang to assist Bamatabois, who was trying to staunch a nosebleed.

Bamatabois responded by trying to get to his feet, which he would have done if not for Combeferre's firm grip. "You will take back what you said about Citizenness Moreau!" he snarled at Mathieu.

"It is not my opinion; it's that of the papers. I'm only stating what they wrote," Mathieu snapped.

"What paper is this?" Combeferre asked, pressing a handkerchief to Bamatabois' nose.

Gavroche quickly retrieved a paper from the floor. "You can use this to wrap fishes in," he said, holding it up for the two newcomers

Enjolras' brow furrowed as he let go of Mathieu and then caught sight of the piece titled ' _Eustace and the Beauties of the Pont d'Arcole'._ He already knew the gist of this ribald story, since Eponine had warned him about it the night before. All the same, laying eyes on the actual text was enough to heighten his disgust and embarrassment at the lurid descriptions of a night at a brothel. Although he did not know whether this prose was in any way accurate in its depictions, he could imagine the uproar and scandal this would certainly have produced in some quarters. He handed the paper to Combeferre for the latter's perusal. "This is not a prudent way of dealing with this insult," he warned his colleagues, also giving Mathieu a pointed look. "It is exactly the reaction they seek to elicit."

"This is why I still deem him as a boy," Mathieu said in a vehement undertone. "One who thinks he is still fighting with his fists on the schoolyard."

Bamatabois glared viciously at Mathieu. "If you were in my position, you would not say such things." He gave Enjolras an astonished look. "How can  _you_  stay calm? You and your wife, even your other friends were very much vilified in this piece!"

Enjolras looked at Combeferre, whose jaw was set as a sign of barely disguised fury. They themselves had been thinly disguised as the brothel's clients who'd led the hapless 'Eustace' astray, while Eponine and Claudine had been shamelessly alluded to as two of the brothel's coarsest bawds. Other friends such as Feuilly and Grantaire, as well as other friends in various groups and a few other legislators had also been very much abused in this publication, having been written down as various sorts of lechers, drunkards and every class of unsavoury character associated with such places of pleasure. "An unnecessary outburst will only confirm these poor impressions. Do not give the writers that satisfaction," he said at length.

Combeferre checked Bamatabois' injury. "The bleeding should stop in a few minutes."

"That or he'll have to visit the dyers," Gavroche sniggered.

Enjolras gave him a warning glance before looking at Bamatabois. "Unless you have planned to visit other hearings, I think you will find the petition from Lyon particularly interesting," he said to his friend.

Bamatabois muttered something in assent before inspecting the bloodied handkerchief pressed to his face. "I will be there in a few minutes," he said grudgingly before going off to allow Combeferre to tend to his injury.

Mathieu looked curiously at Enjolras. "I see you are not a duellist either, whether in actual practice or simply in temperament. Considering your skill in marksmanship..."

"A skill I do not intend to employ towards reckless behaviour," Enjolras said coolly.

"You will let this piece of calumny go unanswered?" Mathieu asked, appalled at the young man's seeming impassivity.

"It is more trouble than it is worth to make the expected reply," Enjolras replied.  _'Time will vindicate all of this,'_ he thought as he went with Gavroche to the meeting room; he was not about to disrupt the rest of the day's pace with another unnecessary altercation.

Regardless of the interruptions and terse incidents of the morning, he could see that matters were playing out as he had hoped they would. Several days of investigating, asking, and making the proper connections had led to an alliance that was now swiftly at work: the representatives were already present at the smaller sessions, some of the more trustworthy journalists were seeking admittance, and the general conversation included much anticipation of the afternoon's plenary session. He knew that he could rely on Jeanne's astuteness, Bamatabois' and Rossi's enthusiasm, and other redeeming and useful qualities of some other colleagues within the assembly. Outside the legislature he could count on a myriad of other people from different groups interested in the proceedings, as well as the presence of foreign correspondents and envoys who would wish to see the assembly at work. The diplomatic corps' involvement, albeit a little from afar, had been owing to some clever work on Feuilly's part. Then of course there would be Grantaire's candour and Coutard's meticulousness as far as dealing with the local journalists was concerned. He had also known that Combeferre and Claudine would find some way to be involved in events. He realized bemusedly that the only thing he had not exactly predicted was Eponine's part in the matter; he was sure that she would take the lead in presenting the Parisian petition, but he had certainly not counted on her helping him to ensure Mathieu's attendance at the Hotel de Ville. ' _Far more than a mere advantage,'_ he thought, remembering the spiteful words that the Lafontaines had said just mere months ago.

Not surprisingly, the hearing on the artisans' petition was so full to the point that Enjolras and Gavroche had to settle for standing towards the back of the meeting room. The principal authors had showed up in full force, as well as the committee members. Aside from these, there were also some deputies from other towns, leaders and outspoken members of various guilds and ateliers in Paris, and a handful of journalists. The leader of the artisans, a man who Enjolras had met once, prior to the Glorious Days of 1830, nodded cordially to him but threw a more sceptical look at Combeferre and Bamatabois when they entered the hall.

At some point in the session, one of the older stoneworkers standing nearby gave Enjolras a toothy grin. "Not so much the bourgeois boy anymore, Citizen?" he said candidly. "Good to see your support. Where's Citizen Jeanne?"

"He is attending another hearing," Enjolras replied tactfully.

"Ah, appeasing the neighbours?" a more cavalier glassworker chimed in. "That  _poissarde_  will be glad to hear of the interest."

"There are other reasons," Enjolras said, not wishing to indulge this seemingly dangerous line of comment. Still he had to silently acknowledge that the mere word of Jeanne's presence at the hearing downstairs would help mollify Allyce Legendre's temper, regardless of the result. ' _Now the same cannot be said for this hearing,'_ he thought just as the sound of a ledger slamming against a table pierced the air just as a deputy got to his feet to answer a pointed remark made from one of the petition's authors.

Gavroche pumped his fist excitedly. "There starts the first report!"

Combeferre shook his head as he began to roll up his sleeves. "Some of them are on the point of apoplexy especially with this summer heat," he said. He watched the debate cautiously for a few moments until the angry representative was pacified and everyone had returned to their seats. "This may not guarantee the immediate passage of the petition."

"We'll make another attempt if it is turned down," the stoneworker cut in, cracking his knuckles. "But for their sake—"he added before an exclamation from the convenor of the session suddenly had the room erupting into cheers. "What did he say, Citizens?"

"The petition is now forwarded to the afternoon assembly," Enjolras replied, having just heard the news over the din and commotion that now seemed to also be coming from outside the room as well; clearly the other sessions were just concluding. He made his way to the door and peered out in time to see Grantaire talking excitedly with a younger journalist.

Grantaire grinned widely when he saw Enjolras. "I've been to the post, and word has it that the assemblies in other cities have already finished their voting sessions. Our assembly is the last to come to a decision."

"Well then, what about the committee hearings?"

"Five approved for later, one denied, and the last I have no news of."

"Which one was denied?" Enjolras asked tersely.

"The one from Verdun," Grantaire said. "The last one, there has been no messenger, no Iris or Hermes ascending from downstairs to tell us of it-"

"I will have to play that part then," Claudine said, running up the stairs but slowing down to a more dignified walk when her feet found level ground again. "I could hear your conversation all the way from the landing."

"The verdict was?" Enjolras inquired.

"We made it as far as the assembly too," Claudine replied triumphantly before hurrying down the hall to reiterate the news to Combeferre, who was just emerging from the meeting room with Bamatabois. No one could hear exactly what she said to him, but the amazement on Combeferre's face was evident as well as her delight when he kissed her hand by way of congratulations.

A quick glance at his watch told Enjolras that it was already a quarter before one in the afternoon; the committee hearings had all dragged on far longer than anyone had expected and now there was little time to rest, eat, or simply catch one's breath before the plenary session slated for one in the afternoon. Nevertheless he followed the increasing hubbub of voices downstairs, to the lobby where he knew people would be gathering en route to the session hall.

The spacious lobby was just as cramped, perhaps even more, than it had been on the day of the opening assembly on the first of March. Since it was summer the powdered wig had gone entirely out of fashion; the last holdouts were only too evident in a sea of bare heads and simple caps. Many people still wore cockades and plumes of the various parties but there were still more who donned the tricolor cockade. More women had shown up today in comparison to the first assembly, and they were now openly mingling with various personages and officials. Despite the fact that all the doors and windows had been thrown open for ventilation's sake, the air in this room was practically stifling, and it was all that Enjolras could do to prevent from rolling up his sleeves or loosening his cravat to seek relief from the heat.

As he made his way down the last few steps, he heard an enthusiastic yell and turned to see Gavroche sliding down the banister, leaping down with an impish grin as he reached the end of the rail. "Something better than feet," he said cheekily, making a sweeping bow for the other astonished onlookers at this scene.

"But not for your bones or your trousers," Enjolras said dryly, noticing that Gavroche had ripped the hems of his trousers. He looked around and caught sight of Eponine speaking excitedly with Musichetta, Bossuet, Feuilly, Leonor, and a few other acquaintances. All of them had doffed their hats and Feuilly had even gone as far as rolling up his sleeves. The ladies had tricolor rosettes; Musichetta and Leonor tucked theirs in their décolletage, but Eponine had somehow pinned hers to her hair. As Enjolras began walking towards them, with Gavroche in tow, he heard a humourless, almost sardonic laugh from the crowd. A quick look told him that the source of this was the physician Bayard.

"They may have succeeded in gathering a quorum today, but it is only to assure a defeat," Bayard said confidently to some officials. He cast a patronizing, almost disdainful glare at Enjolras. "No truly conscientious legislator would vote for the approval of such dangerous legislation."

Enjolras stopped to look Bayard in the eye. "The danger is not in these petitions, but in those who would seek to misuse the legislative process for self-serving and tyrannical ends."

"Do not mistake me, Citizen. I am for this Republic and a patriot as much as you and every man here is," Bayard said, making a poor attempt at a cordial smile. "I only do not want to see it plunged into chaos after such a long struggle to bring it to stability. A legislator must make educated and just decisions for his constituents, not leave them to a squabbling rabble that will tear the state apart."

A few shocked gasps and indignant exclamations sounded through the crowd, but Enjolras silently regarded Bayard for a long moment, knowing that this man was revelling in this revelation of an opinion. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Bossuet and Musichetta trying to nudge Eponine closer to join this debate, but the young woman did not move. For a fleeting moment she caught his gaze, nodding almost imperceptibly, yet in those brief seconds Enjolras felt a jolt that he could have sworn coursed through the marrow of his bones. The silent challenge and encouragement in Eponine's eyes were unmistakable, and it could only be met with a fire beyond this very debate.

"Your words would make it appear as if citizens as a whole are devoid of the capacity to work for the resolution of long-standing ills, and thus, representatives must be deemed separate from them," Enjolras finally said to Bayard. "This can never be the case."

"What do citizens know of governance?" Bayard scoffed. "They vote, isn't that enough? They do not need to tell their representatives what they have to do."

"This state would be impossible without the citizenry; it is not only they who decide the very  _presence_  of a representative, but who will see to the day to day workings of the policies so 'intelligently' decided on within these assemblies. It is they who will decide if these will be sustained or simply be confined to paper. The true stability of the state lies in the very effort and will of the people; against it even the strongest tyrant or the most benevolent republic cannot truly hold sway," Enjolras retorted more strongly. The murmurs and hubbub of conversation had died down; in fact it seemed as if the very air had stilled. People were now pressing closer to this conversation, and in fact some others who till earlier had confined themselves to the perimeter of the room were now edging for a better view. Some women had climbed on chairs for a better view, while men had gone as far as extinguishing their cigars.

"The rabble cannot understand anything of governance," Bayard sneered, his eyes hard and glittering behind his spectacles. "You would have the common beggars and farmers throwing dice in the assembly to make decisions owing to their ignorance."

Enjolras shook his head at this gross caricature. "Ignorance can be cured with literacy, especially if it is available to all. You are an educator yourself, Citizen, and you can attest to the benefits that education has on the conditions and character of the individual, then eventually the private and public spheres."

"Only to individuals who are worthy of it."

"A judgment that should not be arbitrarily made. To deny learning, especially to the willing, is to enforce the same inequalities we are all seeking to eradicate. This is a time of illumination, when advancement and improvement of the human mind and condition should be permitted to all, to pursue when and where they will choose, without hindrance and censure from government, neighbor, or infirmities. To deny this is not only an act of slavery and injustice, but folly in itself and the worst sort of blindness. It is far more fitting for France to march with Progress than to be dragged by it."

Bayard's already livid visage darkened as a number of people in the lobby cheered while many others nodded and murmured approvingly. He glared venomously at Enjolras for a long moment before spitting at the young man's feet and then striding out of the lobby amid the jeers and catcalls of some of the workingmen and law students nearest the doorway. By this time someone had opened the assembly hall doors, and soon people began to shove and squeeze their way towards the long benches at the back of the hall and the narrow staircases leading to the galleries. Gavroche practically bounded to the galleries to look for a seat, while Enjolras made his way towards the front of the room, where the representatives were usually seated.

Enjolras was immediately greeted by a jovial fellow, a representative from Livry. "It was an uneven match, Citizen. That fool Bayard should have confined himself to the clinics," this man remarked admiringly. "Now he's been crossed twice in one day, and will never be able to hold up his head in a committee after this."

"When was the first?" Rossi asked, emerging from where he'd been trying to retrieve a pen from under the table.

"Why, at the committee hearing-where he was trounced soundly by two young ladies!" the man from Livry guffawed.

"I would not call them women, even! They were out of control harpies-"a clerk muttered darkly before Rossi elbowed him.

Instead of dignifying this jibe, Enjolras carefully observed the other participants in the session. ' _There is a theoretical possibility that Bayard may be correct, but in practice a prolonged absence would be better than consistently voting down every petition,'_ he noted. The very fact that a quorum had occurred on relatively short notice was a slight encouragement in itself. He allowed himself a glance towards the galleries, where he immediately located Eponine, Gavroche, Combeferre, Claudine, Grantaire, Feuilly, Leonor, Bossuet, and Musichetta, as well as Coutard, Allyce Legendre, Simone, and even Alain Foulon in the leftmost gallery. Everyone was standing; in fact the stragglers and fashionably late in other galleries were duly greeted by curses and admonitions to keep their shoes away from their neighbors' toes.

After a few minutes the representative assigned to preside over the assembly entered the room and took his place at the podium. "In the interest of time, we entreat our fellow legislators to refrain from making lengthy explanations of their stances, and proceed directly to the casting of votes-"he began amid the protests of several of the representatives.

"Censorship!" one bellicose gentleman cried.

"Sit down, you old windbag, and do remember your manners," his neighbor chided him over the harried pounding of a gavel.

The convenor paled but recovered his composure quickly. "We will now begin by voting on the petition from Calais-"

An almost audible sigh of relief swept through the hall; the petition from Calais was on a relatively quiet matter concerning allocations, a question that would not have excited much comment had it not been for the delay with voting on it. As the legislators were called in alphabetical order for the voting, Enjolras quietly listened to the half-murmured replies of 'approve' and 'disapprove' passing through the room before giving his own vote in the affirmative. The voting for the next petitions proceeded smoothly till four out of five petitions had been approved, and one turned down but recommended for a further hearing of reconsideration. By this time it was past three in the afternoon, and the heat of the day had not diminished by very much.

The convenor finally breathed a sigh of relief after the approval of the petition from Lyon before picking up the last petition in line. "We will finally vote on the petition from Paris," he began, wincing already in anticipation of the crowd's reactions.

"I disapprove!" one representative barked.

"You have not been called yet for your vote, Citizen Astier," the convenor said pointedly. "Sit down. May we call on Citizen-"

"I disapprove," a pale man chimed in from behind the sleeve of his coat.

The man named Astier smirked as he subsequently gave his vote of 'disapprove', only to pale when Bamatabois countered loudly with an 'I approve'. "Have you gone mad?" Astier sputtered over the scattered applause from the gallery.

Bamatabois gave him a venomous look. "Don't question me."

"Mad with love perhaps?" Astier's boorish neighbor snickered, further rolling his eyes when he heard Simone gasp rather audibly in the gallery.

Enjolras, already sensing a catastrophe, grabbed his friend by the shoulder to keep him from launching himself at Astier and his cronies. Bamatabois clenched his jaw before reluctantly sitting back down, his expression still murderous before his cheeks reddened with growing shame.

The convenor chewed on his lip tersely before calling out the names of five other representatives, nodding at each reply. "What of your vote, Citizen Enjolras?" he asked.

"I approve," Enjolras replied firmly over the enthusiastic chatter and raised arguments in the galleries. The hubbub grew louder as representative after representative was called, making a deafening crescendo when it was Rossi's turn to cast his vote for the petitions approval, thus making the votes of the Parisian districts unanimous.

After the last vote was cast, the convenor pounded his gavel uselessly before proceeding to read out the result of the voting. "By a vote of 21 to 12, this assembly approves the petition from Paris. This and the four other approved petitions will be signed into law by Citizen Lafayette on Monday-"he shouted before his voice was thoroughly drowned out by jubilant yells and cheers from the assembly floor and the galleries.

For a moment Enjolras was in disbelief till he heard someone call his name. He turned in time to get pulled into an enthusiastic hug by Bamatabois and then by Rossi. "This was brilliant! If it wasn't for you almost single-handedly pulling together a quorum, everyone's work here would be for nothing," Rossi said to Enjolras.

"You must extend your gratitude as well for everyone else present," Enjolras said, clapping his friend on the shoulder. He nodded to Jeanne and Mathieu, who were also talking to other friends and supporters, before hurrying to look for Eponine and their friends. He caught sight of them already making their way out of the gallery, squeezing their way through the crowd on the narrow stairwell. Owing to the celebrating crowd on the session hall floor, it took a few more moments till at last they met at the doorway of the assembly hall.

Eponine immediately reached for his hand in order to pull him to her. He caught her with an arm around her waist, as she brought out another tricolor rosette from her pocket to tuck in his lapel. "That was magnificent, Antoine," she said in his ear.

Enjolras took both of her hands in his as he met her bright smile. "I'm so proud of you Eponine."

Hearing Eponine laugh with delight at these words was among the best victories of the day.


	82. Epilogue: Thine is the Future

**Epilogue: Thine is the Future**

The eventful months of 1833 soon gave way to 1834, a remarkable year particularly for those occupied with social and political questions. ' _At least now there are fewer people who say we are simply out to unpave hell,'_ Eponine mused silently one November morning as she finished recopying a folio of speeches and commentaries translated into English. It was a volume she was particularly proud of, since she had been working on her English vocabulary so as to be able to translate some of the simpler passages. As small as this additional assistance was, it was much appreciated if not enjoyed by both Emile and Odette, who could now devote a little more attention and effort to the numerous other texts continually coming into their workplace.

As Eponine began collating some of the dry pages of text she heard a restless gurgle from a large wicker basket set up next to her desk. "You're through with your nap already, Laure?" she whispered lightly as she scooped up her baby daughter. The infant's dark brown eyes widened as she recognized her mother's voice before she cooed more contentedly and snuggled in closer.

The young woman smiled as she smoothed down Laure's hair, which already showed signs of growing out into an unruly riot of golden curls. She giggled on seeing her daughter's rosy face scrunch in what could only be a quizzical expression before one of her tiny palms wrapped around one of Eponine's fingers. "You caught me there again!" she crooned, eliciting a laugh from the baby. "Doesn't anything ever get past you?"

A light knock sounded on the office door, and Eponine looked up just in time to see Odette carry in an armful of finished manuscripts. "Are you still working on that compilation?" the older woman asked amiably as she set down the booklets on a table to begin wrapping them up.

"I'm only letting the latest pages dry before I stack them up properly but otherwise that volume is as good as finished," Eponine said as she carefully settled Laure back into the makeshift cradle, taking care to tuck the blankets tightly around her for warmth. "It's only for a few minutes, I won't be far away," she reassured the baby before going over to help Odette.

Odette smiled approvingly as she grabbed some brown paper to cover the folios with and then rolled up the sleeves of her lavender dress. "She's such a little dear, isn't she? She'll be quite the dazzling belle by the time she's sixteen."

Eponine smiled as she began to wrap the folios. "Don't say that around my husband or my brothers! They already fuss enough about her as it is and I can only imagine what they'd do to the first young man who dares to cross her."

"Assuming she doesn't already handle the situation herself. She's your daughter after all. That day will come before you or Enjolras will know it, mark my words," Odette pointed out. She sighed as she cut some thread. "Now if only a son of mine would consider the fact that I am in need of grandchildren-"

"Mother, really now!" Emile protested as he emerged from the back office with a notebook in hand. "With all the work we get, it's impossible for me to really spend time with  _anyone_!"

"Excuses!" Odette muttered. "That boy is just afraid to go courting. I don't see why he's so afraid to considering how many of his friends are already engaged or even married! He looked absolutely panicked at Prouvaire's wedding to your sister."

Eponine shook out her left hand to stave away a cramp in her twisted fingers before deftly tying up the packages. "He'll get to it in time, maybe before he turns thirty."

Odette made a huffing sound as she dusted off her hands. "By the way, what is this news I hear about that friend of yours, Simone, and that legislator from the Marais?"

"Simone hasn't told me anything, Bamatabois hasn't told anyone," Eponine deadpanned.

"Some people say they are already married in secret."

"Why would they be?"

"For some people it works better that way; it adds a touch of the romance to it," Odette said. "I think your other friend Allyce would beg to disagree."

"She always has a thing or two to say to or about Simone and Bamatabois. I s'pose she sometimes forgets how helpful they are especially with the things we're doing now," Eponine pointed out.

"It's a good thing it's you and Claudine speaking with the deputies regarding those projects for educating girls," Odette remarked. "I heard that Allyce no longer has patience for that."

"It's why she prefers to leave that part to us while she talks with the other ladies and her neighbours," Eponine explained. ' _And that's why I have to go to the deliberations tomorrow, instead of her,'_ she thought. She looked to where Emile was hurrying to the door to receive some mail. "More things to translate?" she asked him.

"Only if your friend from Toulouse writes in Occitan," Emile said, handing a missive to Eponine.

Eponine nearly started on recognizing the Changer's handwriting on the envelope. ' _Normally it's Montparnasse who writes,'_ she thought as she tore the packet open. She bit her lip as she read through the letter that detailed both the Changer's upturn in his circumstances thanks to Tholomyes' unsolicited help, Montparnasse's latest escape from the law, and one of Babet's minor illnesses. ' _At least it was not for lack of trying,'_ she thought, taking consolation in the fact that this was not the worst possible outcome of the venture to give these men a chance at seeking their fortunes away from Paris.

"Is something the matter, Eponine?" Odette asked her concernedly. "Bad news?"

Eponine sighed as she pocketed the missive, already silently resolving to write back if only to inquire about the matter even if it was not likely that she would or could extend any further assistance. "I s'pose it could be worse. It's only a slight mishap some old friends have gotten into, nothing for anyone to be concerned about."

"Do let us know if we can be of any help," Odette offered. "You are already handling far too much nowadays, my dear."

"Only on some days; it's good that my hands are used to it," Eponine quipped. As she dusted off her hands and went to pick up Laure again, she happened to glance towards the window in time to catch sight of Feuilly and Leonor walking up to the front door. "You're here at the best time! We were just wrapping up the pamphlets for those American, English and Prussian diplomats," Eponine greeted as she let them into the house.

"I was just asking Gilles why they can't just read l the texts in French. I'm aware that they know the language since that is part of their education," Leonor groused as she set aside her shawl. She smiled momentarily when she noticed that Laure was watching them intently. "If you ask me, there is too much lost in translation."

"Those pamphlets aren't for them; they may very well end up in wider circulation in England," Feuilly explained. He looked gratefully at Eponine and the Stendhals. "Thank you for doing this even on short notice. Next time I will make sure that the diplomatic corps office is more prompt about these requests for translations."

"Only if they involve speeches," Emile said a little balefully.

Feuilly winced. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"Fortunately we are in contact with most of the original authors; otherwise we might have inadvertently perpetuated some misunderstandings," Eponine assured him blithely.

"It would be much easier if some of them were better with other languages," Odette chimed in.

"I told Antoine that as soon as he's got a little time for it, he ought to also try learning some other language too. It would be easier for him to deal with visitors from outside of France," Eponine remarked.

Feuilly's eyebrows shot upwards with curiosity. "What did he decide on?"

"He said he'd probably be best off learning Spanish since he says it is close enough to French  _and_  Occitan, and apparently to Latin as well," Eponine said, rolling her eyes with fond exasperation at her partner's stubbornness. "But having time to see to it is still the biggest problem though."

"He needs to learn the sort of Spanish they speak in Madrid and not what they use in the Basque regions," Leonor pointed out.

"There is a difference?" Eponine asked.

"A little like French and Occitan," Leonor replied. I'll show you some books the next time you're over at Saint-Merry, or if you're still attending the deliberations tomorrow."

Eponine smiled as she adjusted her grip on Laure, who was beginning to squirm restlessly. "I'll be there, even for a little while," she said. "So will Claudine since she's really intent on speaking with some of the schoolmasters who'll attend."

"If she won't miss it, nor will I."

Feuilly surreptitiously checked his watch. "Leonor, I know we _should_  stay and chat but I have to be at the Cafe du Foy in an hour or Courfeyrac will be upset that we missed what he's been helping us arrange," he said, clasping his mistress' arm. "There are some Polish students who are in Paris," he explained to Eponine and the Stendhals. "I'm eager to hear what they have to say."

"And of course you're also eager to share a thing or two with them," Eponine said approvingly. As soon as her friends took their leave a few minutes later, Emile and Odette went to confer in the back office, while Eponine sat back at her desk and carefully tucked Laure back into the basket. She searched her desk for an old, blunted quill and handed this to Laure, who squealed with delight before immediately beginning to examine this strange object. Now that she was sure that her daughter would be sufficiently occupied for at least the next few minutes, Eponine finally set about to finishing her work, humming softly as she sorted through the pages and collated them.

At length she heard the telltale rattle of a carriage approaching the house. ' _What could bring Cosette visiting here?'_ she thought as she got a good look at the vehicle, recognizing it to be the Pontmercys' carriage. She glanced at her watch, which now showed the time to be five minutes past noon, before getting up to open the front door. "Oh what are you doing here Cosette? And with everyone too!"

"Papa and I came from the Rue de'lOuest, Marius has business here in the Latin Quartier, so we all decided to go together," Cosette replied, gesturing to her companions with one hand; the other was clasping that of little Georges, who was trying to hide behind his mother's skirt. Cosette smiled as she coaxed her son forward. "Georges, say hello to your aunt Ponine," she said. The little boy looked up at her with wide eyes before toddling forward to kiss Eponine's cheek."

Eponine smiled as she ruffled Georges' hair. "He is such the little gentleman!"

"Marius is teaching him well. How is Laure doing?" Cosette asked.

"Very well," Eponine said as she showed them into the front office "I brought her with me today, as I always do."

"Is Stendhal busy at the moment?" Marius chimed in. "I need to speak with him about some volumes I found for a case I'm working on."

Eponine pointed to a door. "He's in the back office."

As Marius went to speak to Emile, Cosette went over to take a look at Laure, who cooed and gurgled by way of greeting. "She's already three months old today, isn't she?" she asked Eponine.

Eponine nodded. "So how are things at the Rue de l'Ouest?" she inquired as she watched Cosette cuddle her goddaughter.

"Yes. The kitchen there was finally repaired, thank heavens," Cosette replied with a smile of relief. Over the past year Cosette had turned the old apartment into a refuge of a different sort, one where gamins and gamines could find a warm bed or a good meal, if only for a few days or till some more permanent arrangement could be made for them. "There are seven children staying there now, and still more who drop in at some point or another. I don't want to turn them away especially considering how the weather has been lately."

Jean Valjean cleared his throat as he swung Georges onto his shoulders. "Have you also received a letter from Toulouse?" he asked, keeping a strong grip on the boy's hands so he wouldn't fall off as he bounced happily.

Eponine nodded. "Someone wrote to you too?"

"It was a letter for me, actually. The gist of it is that Citizen Tholomyes is quite happy both with his health and his new business," Cosette said amiably.

"I never imagined him to be in a writing mood," Eponine remarked. Nevertheless this news corroborated the Changer's missive, somewhat making her feel a little better about some parts of the entire story.

Cosette laughed and shook her head before handing Laure back to Eponine. "He was quite proud of his voluminous prose, actually."

"Are you planning to write back?" Jean Valjean asked the young women. "I hope the contents of the letter did not upset you, Eponine."

"Only a short note," Cosette said pleasantly. "Just so he can be assured that I'm well."

"As for me I ought to at least ask and see if there's something to do about it," Eponine replied with a shrug. "How goes it with you and the glassworks business?" she asked Valjean.

"Doing well enough," Jean Valjean answered amiably.

"It's not just doing  _well enough_. Father has been able to help so many of his workers even though there was a bit of a sickness in the factory last summer," Cosette remarked.

"It is only what should be done," Valjean said.

"Father, most workers have learned not to expect such niceness, or even such good sense coming from Bossuet. It's remarkable, it's new, and it should be talked about as much as all the happenings in the news," Cosette said.

A moment later, Marius strode back into the front office. "Father, there is something that Stendhal and I need your help with; it's about a matter of business," he said hurriedly. He nodded to Eponine. "I forgot to tell you earlier that my cousin wrote to my aunt. He is asking how you are."

Eponine snorted. "If he must know, I am doing well."

Marius chuckled. "He should be content to hear that. Perhaps I should write to him about the glass business too. He might come across people in Calais who would be interested in buying. Bossuet has found us some buyers in Meaux but having more would not hurt."

"You have to convince Theodule to discuss something else besides the garrison," Cosette pointed out.

Eponine rolled her eyes at the memory of Theodule's mode of conversation. ' _I s'pose some things won't change as easily then,'_ she thought as Emile sought them out in the office to discuss the translations. After half an hour the Pontmercys and Jean Valjean took their leave, allowing the Stendhals and Eponine to get back to work.

The hours flew by till at last it was four in the afternoon. After straightening up her desk and going over with Odette a list of errands to be done for the next day, Eponine bundled up Laure and set out for the Rue Guisarde. It was one of the busiest hours now in the Latin Quartier; many people would be finishing up at their workplaces or leaving their classes, while the more nocturnal denizens of the quartier were only beginning their usual routines. This merry state of affairs was best exemplified in the neighbourhood of the Place de l'Odeon, which was a riot of color and music even in the middle of autumn. Many playwrights, thespians, and other performers had congregated to discuss work, gossip, or to meet and wheedle with their patrons, while bystanders and vendors were taking advantage of the pleasant late afternoon.

Almost immediately Eponine caught sight of Grantaire and Nicholine poring over a newspaper. Nicholine looked up first and waved to her. "You're headed home already?" she called.

Eponine nodded. "I didn't know you had half-holiday on Thursdays."

"I'm on a full holiday; I've been since yesterday," Nicholine said. "I've left behind being a governess."

"Oh and what for?"

"I'm thinking of starting a small shop of my own. I'd prefer that over having to be at the beck and call of someone else."

Grantaire grinned mirthfully at her. "I thought it was because you were tired of playing Mentor to an unwilling Telemachus, Nicholine."

Nicholine gaped at him. "Did you actually use my given name?"

"Shall I switch back then to an ancient nomenclature?" Grantaire quipped only to laugh when Nicholine gave him a firm pinch on the arm. "My dear, that is a poor way to you repay your worshippers!"

Eponine giggled at this pair's banter before going to the theater steps, where she had espied her sister. Azelma was seated on a step, explaining a series of sketches to Musichetta and Therese. "What is this all about?" Eponine asked curiously.

"Asking for some ideas on clothes," Azelma replied, grinning at her sister. "I want to turn these sketches into actual dresses in the Spanish style, but not make them look like something straight out of an Andalusian dance."

Eponine leaned over to see what Azelma had in hand and was treated to drawings of various costumes, including a spectacular sort of ball gown with layer upon layer of flounces all over the skirt. "On the wrong person, that would look like a cake turned into a dress," she pronounced.

"That is why I think we should do away with some of the flounces and use a different sort of lace," Therese said. "It would also turn out to be less expensive."

"But not eye-catching enough for an audience, especially here at the Odeon. We have to make the best of the lights," Musichetta said as she picked up a pencil.

"Is this for some new opera?" Eponine asked as she set Laure down on her lap in order to relieve the slight ache in her arms.

Azelma nodded giddily before reaching over to give her niece an awkward pat. "A new form of it. It's actually several skits that make a sort of story."

"It is a new form indeed: half the drama will be on stage, the other half will be enacted by the audience," Therese quipped. "Just like when Hernani was staged."

"Jehan's work isn't going to cause that sort of chaos. He's better with handling these things now," Azelma pointed out. "At least his part won't; I'm not sure what some of the other writers like Dumas might be up to."

Musichetta chuckled before looking up and shaking her head as she caught sight of Joly and Bossuet walking up to them, the latter looking despondent. "Has the evil genius struck again?" she called.

Bossuet shook his head as he sat down heavily. "No it's only me and Marthe."

"Another quarrel?" Therese asked worriedly. "Do you need help to talk to her?"

"I think time would be a better remedy," Bossuet said wryly as he wiped his forehead.

Eponine gave him a sympathetic look. "I heard that you and Pontmercy and Citizen Valjean are doing well with that glassworks factory," she finally said, eager to change the subject in order to cheer their friend up.

"Yes, that is one good thing," Bossuet replied more cheerily as he glanced at Joly. "He has more news about the human condition.

"On the whole, it is persevering as always," Joly replied gaily as he rubbed the top of his cane. He wiped his spectacles before looking at the rest of the group intently. "The rumors are true; Bayard has quit the Necker and has officially accepted the post as the Minister for the Committee on Health."

"What does he know of such things? He can't even cure his own choler," Therese said.

"He is at least knowledgeable about policies," Joly said sanguinely as he went to sit next to Musichetta.

"What if he undoes what you've been trying to do at the Bourbe?" Musichetta asked as she inched over to make more room for him.

"I don't think he can argue with the fact that fewer patients have died in the past three months compared to how it stood a year ago," Joly replied, resting his head against her shoulder even as he placed one hand on her midsection.

"Who would have thought such good could come from a simple thing like boiling some of the instruments?" Therese laughed. "Any word as to who was appointed to be the minister for the committee on education?"

"No one is saying anything to any legislator or any group," Eponine said. Still she couldn't help but feel apprehensive; this person would be in a position to divert, prevent, or permit any of the initiatives concerning improvements in the educational system. ' _Hopefully it will be a person we can actually have some good discussions with,'_ she thought.

Azelma looked keenly at her sister. "You always said that sometimes what people need is a little talking to. Maybe that's what can be done for someone difficult."

"Talking to is one thing, but that person doing something about it is still another," Eponine pointed out. "We'll know by tonight, I s'pose, since we need that sort of person for tomorrow's deliberations."

A chorus of laughter and a hubbub of voices came from where a bellicose man had been conversing with Prouvaire and some other playwrights while Bahorel, Grantaire, Nicholine, and a whole group of eager spectators stood by, almost as if they expected this exchange to come to blows. "Your depictions of society are unnatural! Have you no concern for the moral formation of the public or do you deliberately delight in the grotesque?" the bellicose man sputtered.

"It is not grotesque if it is pathos," Prouvaire replied. "I refuse to depict a massacre as a glorious fight if it was something to be pitied more than lauded."

"A travesty all the same!"

Eponine raised an eyebrow, noting this stranger's English accent. "Journalist or diplomat?" she asked her friends.

"A critic and a son of some lord stuffed shirt," Azelma laughed melodiously. She looked sharply towards this commotion and turned crimson on hearing an unmistakably coarse epithet. "I'm not letting anyone talk to Jehan that way!" she hissed before jumping to her feet and racing over to the argument.

"She's even more protective of him now than before they were married!" Therese remarked as she picked up the sketches that Azelma had inadvertently dropped. "And it is so sweet he dotes on her."

"He's good for her," Eponine said. ' _Maybe because she is so much braver and less willing to sit down whenever Prouvaire is around,'_ she thought as she handed Laure to Musichetta and then went to discreetly follow Azelma. By this time her sister was already standing behind Prouvaire and gripping his arm behind his back, even as he was making an indignant reply to the critic's accusations. Bahorel nodded to Eponine and made a punching gesture before motioning to the journalist. Eponine rolled her eyes and had to hold back a rather unladylike snort as she neared her sister and her brother-in-law.

By this time the critic was nearly blue in the face from yelling, such that even Joly had gotten to his feet, ready to intervene should this man be taken with apoplexy. "I should have expected this filth out of you rakes and libertines! The works you create, the tobacco you smoke, even the women you are with! Where can I talk to someone respectable?" the Englishman roared.

Prouvaire only reached behind him to clasp Azelma's hand. "You are talking to one. If that will not do, then I should say that most of us in this square are courteous and civil," he replied.

"You Parisians are nothing but rabble-rousers, who know nothing of actual politics," the critic sneered.

"Jehan knows a lot about politics, how else can he write or make a play about it?" Azelma shot back.

The critic gave her a contemptuous look before training his gaze on Eponine. "I daresay you look more sensible than the rest of this lot, Miss. Could you tell me where I can deliver this letter of introduction?" he said, making an obsequious bow to her. "The address is Number 9 Rue Guisarde, the house of the legislator named Enjolras."

Eponine burst out laughing, as did many of the bystanders. "You can give the letter to me; I will  _definitely_  make sure he will receive it as soon as he arrives home. I s'pose you can just as well send it to the Hotel de Ville; it's more official that way."

The journalist gaped at her in shock and astonishment. "Are you that wife of his?"

"You should call me Citizenness Enjolras. You've already met my sister and my brother-in-law, Azelma and Jean Prouvaire," Eponine said, clenching her fist for a moment at this slight. "Your name would be?"

"Goldberg will do," the critic said, curling his lip as he looked Eponine over from head to toe. "So it is true what they say; you are very forward for your age and station."

"I s'pose I wouldn't call it forward if one's already been in the conversation for quite some time," Eponine replied, looking him in the eye.

"I would have expected someone in your position: a wife to a politician, and a young mother as well, to be more occupied with her household than affairs of state."

"Should there be a difference between them, especially in  _my_  position?"

Goldberg sneered imperiously at her. "How perfectly Parisian of you; those antics will not do in London."

"I s'pose you should now know that letters of introduction are not what we do in Paris anymore; we prefer to show our faces when we make calls," Eponine retorted.

The critic gaped at her before straightening up stiffly and thrusting the note at her. "Then let Citizen Enjolras that I will call on him at the Hotel de Ville tomorrow," he said more gruffly. "A pleasant afternoon to you, Citizenness."

Eponine kept a straight face as she pocketed the missive, which reeked strongly of absinthe and cheap cigars. "Now that is someone who does not need a ticket to your next opening night," she said more candidly to Prouvaire as soon as Goldberg was out of earshot.

Prouvaire chuckled wryly. "He is paid to have an opinion, but not to have his sensibilities shocked."

"It's a waste of money then," Bahorel chimed in. "I could smell the miasma around him, which makes him a very unhealthy character."

Amid the guffaws that rippled through the crowd at this remark, Eponine thought she heard a distinctly childish chuckle in the throng. She stood on tiptoe and finally caught sight of her brothers and Navet running into the square. All four of these boys were covered with sugar and their collars were smeared with some sort of custard. Also with them was Courfeyrac, who had also brought little Armand with him.

"Ponine, we had some long puffs today!" Jacques chirped excitedly as he ran up to his sister. "Courfeyrac let us have some on the way here."

"They're called éclairs," Neville corrected him.

"They taste the same as puffs do," Jacques argued.

"Because they're made of the same soft stuff, only that one is a gentleman and the other is a lady," Gavroche chimed in.

Eponine snorted at this pointed analogy. "I s'pose the bakers sometimes like to be fancy with these things. You boys need to set your things aside with the rest of the laundry; it won't do to wear those collars again to school tomorrow."

"Neville's pockets are also dirty," Jacques remarked gleefully.

"I only have rocks," Neville said, bringing out a small gray stone that had been split in half to reveal the multicoloured layers within it. "I thought I'd find an insect buried in it."

"Maybe you can ask Combeferre later where it's best to look for those things," Eponine said. She looked to Courfeyrac, who was watching this scene mirthfully, all the while keeping one hand around Armand's arm as the child toddled around. "How was the Cafe du Foy today?" Eponine asked him.

"You mean that lunch with Feuilly, Leonor, and the Polish students? We never had a merrier time of it, or a more productive one," Courfeyrac replied. "It was a very welcome break from the Palais de Justice."

Gavroche sidestepped to avoid accidentally tripping on Armand, who'd begun to reach for his bootlace. "Can you keep the tadpole in one place?" he asked Courfeyrac.

Courfeyrac laughed at this epithet. "If he is a tadpole, then what would you rate yourself at that age?"

Gavroche merely stuck out his tongue at this query. "Something that was learning to fly."

' _He'd call himself an eagle if he could,'_ Eponine thought. "Come on, let's go home. Joly and Musichetta are waiting for you on the steps, Navet," she told the boys.

Navet colored slightly as the Thenardier boys howled with laughter. "It's Bernard, Citizenness," Navet said in an undertone.

"Bernard?"

"That's the sobriquet of his at school," Gavroche said. "It's not very well published, and therefore not in common usage."

"It would be if more people like you used it," Navet grumbled.

The two boys kept up this vein of banter while Courfeyrac picked up Armand and went to speak to Bahorel, Prouvaire, and Grantaire. In the meantime Eponine hurried to fetch Laure, who by this time was starting to get restless despite all of Musichetta and Therese's attempts to calm her down. "I'm sorry that took longer than I thought," she said apologetically to her friends as she scooped up the whimpering child.

"Don't worry about it. I think though that she's a little hungry," Therese said.

"Yes, I s'pose now would be the time for it," Eponine sighed as she gently bounced the infant in order to soothe her. "Hush now. We'll go home in a little bit,  _petite_ ," she whispered, desperately hoping that Laure would not start screeching with hunger or plain indignation.

"Maybe we can all visit the Rue Guisarde tomorrow night after everything," Azelma chimed in, walking up behind her sister. "Would you like that, Ponine?"

"Very much. After dinner would be nice," Eponine said. ' _I think we do get on much better now that we're a little grown-up,'_ she thought as she hurriedly bid goodbye to the rest of the group and hurried back to where her brothers were waiting. Sometimes she still felt a little rueful on recalling the years during which she and her siblings had been estranged, but the gloom was always quickly dispelled by the fact that they now had the opportunities to make up for the distance.

Within a quarter of an hour, Eponine, Laure, Gavroche, Neville, and Jacques arrived at the Rue Guisarde. Neville immediately dashed off to feed his pet cat, Gavroche and Jacques headed to the study to find some books for their assignments, while Eponine paused to retrieve some letters that had piled up outside the door over the course of the day. She noticed some thick letters from Louis and Monique in this stack but she set these missives aside for later perusal and headed upstairs with Laure.

Much to Eponine's relief, it only took a few minutes till the child stopped fussing, at least enough to be nursed without any interruption. "There now, you didn't have to fret so much," she whispered as she patted Laure's back till the baby let out a tiny burp. Eponine then closed her eyes for a few moments, relishing the relative calm of the early evening. It was far from a quiet night; even now she could hear carriages on the street, the wind in the trees, and the chatter of her brothers downstairs. Yet this was the sort of bustle that Eponine liked best, a further reminder of how real this everyday was, no matter how impossible it seemed just two and a half years ago.

After a few minutes she heard the front door opening followed by her brothers' voices all competing for attention. She saw Laure's eyes go wide as she tried to follow the source of this sudden commotion. "I'm sure that when you're a little bigger you'll be  _just_  as noisy as the boys all are," Eponine whispered as she smoothed out Laure's clothes before bringing her downstairs. She tiptoed towards the kitchen, where she could hear the lively sounds of chatter punctuated by the opening and shutting of cupboard doors. She bit her lip to hold back a giggle at the sight of her brothers and Enjolras putting bread, cheese, some potatoes, onions, and a few other foodstuffs into the larder. She signed to her brothers to keep quiet and then as quietly as she could she went up behind Enjolras. However before she could kiss the back of his ear just to tease him, Laure let out a small squeak, clearly excited to see her father and her uncles.

Enjolras quickly turned to look at them, only to end up smirking with amusement as he realized what Eponine had intended to do. "Most people prefer to be face to face when greeting each other 'good evening,'" he greeted dryly.

"Antoine, we're not most people," she pointed out. "I know you like that."

Enjolras smiled before giving Eponine a light kiss and then bending to ruffle Laure's hair. "I gather that you also had a long day?" he asked.

"Every day is like this, even when it's not summer," Eponine quipped. Somehow just the sight of him was enough to dispel much of her weariness, especially when he returned her joke with a bemused, yet affectionate glance. "And how was yours?"

"Interesting enough; we settled one question about trade and tariffs today. So much the better, so there will only be the deliberations to worry about tomorrow," Enjolras replied. He nodded to Gavroche, Neville, and Jacques, who were rolling their eyes and snickering at this interlude. "I'll see you three in the study; we'll go over your assignments in a few minutes after Eponine and I finish up here."

Eponine felt her cheeks grow pleasantly warm as she caught her husband's gaze. Somehow even after all this time, he still had that effect on her, perhaps even more so nowadays since they were far more used to each other than before. "So who else will be at the meeting tonight?" she asked.

"Combeferre, Claudine, Bamatabois, Rossi, Jeanne, and Foulon. Two of the authors of that proposal for the primary schools said they would attend," Enjolras replied as he shut the cupboard door. "Did you invite anyone else?"

"Simone, and there are two ladies she said she's bringing along," Eponine remarked. "I hope it will be worth their while; they're coming a long way to visit."

"There is a great deal to discuss. It will be a lengthy meeting, Eponine," Enjolras said more concernedly as he reached out to brush her hair away from her face.

"I know, but we have to make things clear with everyone before the deliberations tomorrow. I s'pose I'll manage well enough tonight, at least as well as you do," she reassured him, gently kissing his cheek before carefully handing Laure over to him. "Hold her for a little bit. She missed you."

Enjolras smirked before tickling Laure, who squealed and giggled before swatting at his hand. "Now don't put that in your mouth,  _petite,_ " he warned, gently extricating his finger from her grip. "Florentin Ouvrard just accepted the post for the committee on education," he told Eponine after a few moments.

Eponine paused to mull over this bit of news. "Is that a good thing, especially since he's from the  _Constitutionalists_  party?"

"It is, in the sense that he is open-minded and convivial as both of us already know. As to how he handles influences from his party, it remains to be seen. You know he does not act unreasonably."

"Can you really expect the best of him?"

"It is far better than expecting the alternative."

Eponine shrugged before searching her pockets for the letter of introduction she'd been handed earlier in the day. "This is from a critic who wants to call on you at the Hotel de Ville tomorrow," she said, putting the note in Enjolras' waistcoat pocket. "I s'pose I should tell you that he was quite startled at first by Prouvaire and his idea for a play."

"Emphasis being on 'at first'," Enjolras said, not even bothering to hide his amusement. "I take that you also had something to say to him?"

"Only because he was being a little awful to Prouvaire and Zelma," Eponine said in a tone that was both mischievous and innocent. She peered over at Laure, who was yawning a little restlessly. "Could you bring her upstairs? It's about time she got some sleep I s'pose,"

He gave her a slight nod. "Just call if you need something."

"I will. Thank you," Eponine said before Enjolras and Laure quit the kitchen. As she went about preparing some vegetable soup and lightly spiced potatoes by way of a simple dinner, she could not help but listen to snatches of the slightly hushed chatter coming from the study. ' _Leave it to Antoine to turn a discussion about history into story-telling,'_ she thought, hearing the conversation turn towards the topic of the storming of the Bastille. Her brothers usually came to her for help with their essay work or arithmetic, mostly since they liked to think that she had the time for it, but they almost always reserved their questions on history and politics for when Enjolras was home. Admittedly it made the task of helping with their schoolwork a great deal easier.

Just as she left the kitchen to allow the soup to simmer, she heard three rapid knocks on the front door. She arrived there in time to find Neville already excitedly showing the halved stone to Combeferre while Claudine and Enjolras were making small talk. "How did it go at the Sorbonne today?" Eponine asked by way of greeting.

"One of our articles is getting published, but the rest are under review," Claudine said enthusiastically. "It's slow, but it's better than being rejected outright."

"That's even including the article about magnets?" Eponine asked, knowing that this one particular work was her dear friend's lone effort, a project she'd taken on to prove that being known as Claudine Combeferre  _nee_  Andreas did not mean any change in her academic focus.

Claudine nodded gleefully. "If it gets published, I will send you and Enjolras a copy immediately."

"You can expect that in a month or two," Combeferre said. "It will be published in time for the new lecture series at the Sorbonne."

"How many of those are you giving?" Enjolras asked him, glancing down to where Jacques had unexpectedly hugged him around his leg.

"Three," Combeferre said with a smile as he handed a thick sheaf of papers to his friends. "These are the compiled recent curriculums of various schools; it's surprising how much variation there actually is despite all previous efforts to standardize the curriculum on a national level. The variation isn't always a negative development; some subjects and trades require more emphasis in other districts than others."

Enjolras looked over one heavily underlined entry. "These will have to be taken into account in the revision of the petition, or even as early as tomorrow's deliberation. I believe that some of the figures quoted in the first draft were a little outdated."

"Define outdated?" Claudine asked.

"September 1832," Enjolras said.

Eponine laughed. "It may as well be another age." She felt a tug on her skirt and she looked down to see Jacques. "We'll have dinner in a few minutes, Jacques. You saw that we will have good potatoes tonight," she said.

"Why do we have so many visitors again?" he asked her.

"Because there's another big meeting tomorrow," she said. "It will end late, but you can go to sleep earlier if you like. We'll just be here downstairs."

"What will all of you be talking about?"

"Some things, like about what you boys and Laure might be studying at school in a few years."

Jacques frowned at this. "Gavroche won't like it; he says we read too much. But I don't think so," he said, saying the last part as if it was a secret.

"What do you mean?"

"Neville told me we'll have a race to read every book in France."

Eponine could not help but grin at this thought. "Well you'd better start by reading your schoolbooks, and do those well so you can read even newer books," she teased him. ' _What if they actually manage it?'_ she mused. After all this time, she had learned not to dismiss any dreams as being too far-fetched or too lofty for anyone to reach for.

After a quick but nonetheless light hearted dinner, Eponine headed upstairs to check on Laure while Enjolras went to the study to sort through papers and correspondence in preparation for the meeting. She found Laure fast asleep, carefully bundled up against the slightly chilly autumn evening. ' _And who knows what you'll grow up to be? What extraordinary thing will you do?'_ Eponine wondered as she carefully adjusted the sheets in the cradle and kissed the sleeping child. "We'll be back here soon,  _petite_ ," she whispered before going back downstairs.

By this time she could hear the lively conversation of the rest of their guests now congregating in the front room; judging by the raucous laughter she guessed that they were teasing Rossi about an acrimonious entanglement with none other than Cerise Lafontaine. ' _Now that is a story that will have a complicated chapter to it,'_ she thought, knowing better than to raise any comment on this matter.

Eponine slipped to the study where she found Enjolras standing near the window of the room, seemingly deep in thought. She went up to him and slipped one of her hands into his. "What are you thinking of?" she whispered.

"About how it will all play out," he replied as he settled an arm around her waist to pull her closer. "It won't be just hoping anymore, Eponine."

She smiled as she rested her cheek against his shoulder, simply revelling in the comforting rhythm of his breathing. "You sound so certain of it."

"It will succeed, no matter how long it may take," he said, lifting her chin so that their eyes met before he gave her a deep but affectionate kiss, such that she could feel her toes curl in her shoes. "Of course it would be best not to delay the progress of this venture, so we should start the meeting in a few minutes," he said against her lips when he pulled away.

"I knew you would be  _anything_  but patient even with this!" she laughed as she ran a hand through his hair before moving down to adjust his cravat. "There, now that looks better," she said before they left the study hand in hand.

The living room was full of guests now: Combeferre and Rossi were debating about the applications of steam engines, while Bamatabois and Claudine were discussing the news, and in the meantime Simone, Jeanne, and Foulon were talking with the guests from out of town. "Finally you two are ready," Simone said as everyone scrambled for seats.

"We just had to go over a few things," Eponine said as she found her favourite chair in the room. She tossed her pocketbook on a table as she looked first to Enjolras, and then to the rest of the group. "I s'pose now, shall we begin?"


End file.
